The Skeptic & His Patria
by vivelabarricade
Summary: Grantaire was a skeptic, a drunkard scorned by the man he admired most – the beloved leader of the revolution he did not even believe in. Skeptic that he is, when Marie Bennett, a gamine scorned by her family stumbles into Café Musain one evening, does he find his reason to fight for Patria? Grantaire/OC.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis.

_Okay, so this is my first attempt at fanfiction, ever. I know it's not the greatest, but I really wanted to try this._

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The night was cold, dark, the way it always seemed to be in Paris. While happy families returned to their homes to laugh and talk, the gamin and gamines of the streets returned to the squalid homes in hope of sleep, a brief but welcome escape from the pangs of hunger that haunted them throughout the day. The even less fortunate took to the streets – honest work was hard to find.

One of these unfortunates was Marie Bennett, a little twig of a young woman. The girl was small with long and unruly dark brown hair that was nearly black and deep eyes to match. Her skin was pale and cheekbones sunken. The faded maroon fabric of the dress she wore clung to her small frame in the rain. She was not a pleasant sight. She was not surprised so much of Paris chose to ignore her existence, and the existence of gamines like herself.

She was not always this way. Oh, no, her life had once been much different. The dress she wore, though faded and torn – was at a time much too fine for the little gamine that wore it. It was once beautiful. She was once beautiful. But that seemed a lifetime ago now. And truly it was. She had not seen her mother or father – those she had so loved but who had rejected her so easily at her refusal to bend to their will – in over a year now. As far as she was concerned this was all the better. She did not wish for anyone to see her, or what had become of her.

After being kicked out of her parents' home, a lovely place with a fireplace, fine silver, lavishly decorated rooms and the like, she had taken to the streets. She tried to find work, but there was nowhere to go. The small amount of money of her own that she could only pay for a room for a few nights.

It had taken her less than a week to find herself freezing in an alley, arms clutched around her stomach in pain, cold, and hunger.

It had taken her less than a week to find herself pressed up against a cold stone wall by a man she had never met, biting back tears as red hot pain tore through her, forcing herself through at the promise of a few measly francs to get her through the next couple of days.

And so it continued, though she did not cry anymore. She no longer felt anything. She did not look at the men – she stared past them, wondering if perhaps it would have been better after all to marry the vile man her parents had intended her to. At least she would have had a comfortable home to dull the pain. But then again, the pain had turned to numbness, and despite all of these hardships at least she was free.

She lived in a small apartment, furnished only with a bed and a small table – it was about all she could afford with the money she earned. But it was better than the streets, and it fed her enough to live.

And so Marie Bennett fell from aristocrat to street rat, wandering through the night, this time in a part of the city that she rarely visited. It was cold, and the wind tore through the thin fabric adorning her body. No one was taking notice of her, which despite the lack of money this would bring was making her quite happy. She felt so empty. She couldn't do it again. Not tonight.

She found herself wandering into a café that she judged was still open by the lights in the windows. The Café Musain.

She had expected to open the door to the quiet type of drunk that usually accompanied this time of night, where friends gathered to speak and smile. Yet, upon opening the door she found something quite different.

"Let us rise to our cause, until the Earth is free!"

Her eyes landed on a young man with blonde curls and a fire in his eyes that seemed to be matched by all of the rest in the room – except one. This young man, with hair dark like her own, sat with a bottle in his hand and a blank expression on his face. Marie always seemed to notice the strange and alienated, she had since she was a young girl. But her sensitivity toward it was even stronger now, knowing how out of place she was herself.

The whole observation took a matter of seconds, and Marie slipped into the café unnoticed as usual – or so she thought. The young man, whose name was Grantaire, noticed the girl slip into the room. She was like a shadow, almost, the way she slipped through the door, surprise showing in her eyes for only a moment before fading into the background.

Clearly, she was poor, a gamine, though she looked cleaner than most. So what was she doing here? She was not the typical type to visit. His eyes glanced toward his leader, who had ended his speech and was talking excitedly with Coufeyrac and Combeferre before they settled back on the girl, who sat near the back, a cup held tightly in her small hands as she tried desperately to warm up in the almost stuffy heat of the café.

He could only think of one word to describe her, and it was a word his leader used quite often.

_Patria._

She was clearly downtrodden and oppressed, but she had the potential to be something beautiful and free and wonderful.

He almost laughed at the thoughts running through his head, tipping back the bottle in his hand and emptying it of its contents.


	2. Fumbled Beginnings

Disclaimer: I do not own Les Mis.

_Okay, so here goes Chapter 2. There will actually be some interaction in this one, yay!_

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Often, Grantaire found himself questioning why he continued to sit through these meetings, though he knew the answer. For some inexplicable reason, he was drawn to Enjolras and his words, though they were not much more than that. They were pretty words meant to stir the crowd, and they did. The young man was a dreamer, and a foolish one, though that did not stop Grantaire from admiring him so. In fact, he supposed that was the reason that he venerated him as he did. Grantaire found himself unable to look past the harsh realities of life, yet Enjolras set himself above them like Apollo, thinking himself in some sort of control.

And so, Grantaire sat night after night and listened, always hoping that Enjolras would accept him. He never did. But why should he? The Marble Man need not concern himself with Grantaire, for he was little more than a drunkard with enough money to attend school.

The other Friends, though, seemed to have no problem with him or his drinking problem. At least that was a welcome relief, though it was not their respect he was so desperate for.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was being ignored now, probably his own doing - he was far too drunk to discuss politics - but his attention was drawn back to the young girl sitting in the back. He would have thought she would leave by now. But no, she sat alone, the cup long empty and sitting on the table in front of her, her arms wrapped around herself as if she was trying to fend off a chill in a room despite the fact that it was quite warm.

"Hey!" he called out, his words slightly slurred. Why he had called out, he was not sure. Probably because he was lonely with everyone speaking around him, assuming he was in too drunk a state to speak anyways.

A few of the Friends snapped their heads to look at him. He doubted they had even noticed the girl, as wrapped up as they were in their revolution, blind to their cause when it sat right in front of them. Or was this not the point? He often wondered. Perhaps their _ideals_ were good, but the way they were going about it, they were trying to change the world too fast.

Marie's eyes shot up from where they rested on the table in front of her toward the source of the voice that she could tell was pointed at her. The man was drunk, clearly, and her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. She knew the only possible reason a drunk man would call out to a girl like her, especially that time of night. Did he recognize her from the streets? Her faced flushed red with embarrassment, though she held a steady gaze. It wasn't as if she didn't need the money, though the thought of having to go to him and disappear up the stairs into some unknown room while everyone else kindly pretended not to notice, if she was so lucky, made her want to vomit.

"Yes?" Her response was short and laced with uncertainty.

"Why are you sitting... All the way over there... By yourself?" He said the words with a smile, but Marie knew how this went. The words were slurred. He was drunk. There would be false smiles and faked kindess, and then he would toss a few francs on the mattress and disappear.

He motioned for her to join him - for the table he sit at had a few empty seats, most of the boys being crowded around another. Marie had no choice but to stand and go over to him. Despite the fact that she had not intended to work that evening, at least this young man was clean, or at least appeared so. He was wealthy which probably meant a good amount of money, and at least here it was warm. Faking an air of confidence, she sat down, pretending not to notice the eyes that followed her as she did so. Being numb to the world around her was far easier than facing it.

Grantaire smiled warmly, or at least attempted to. His mind was clouded with drink, but he was not as incredibly incapable of functioning as the look Joly was shooting him would suggest. But he could not help but notice the look of defeat in the young woman's eyes as she took a seat across from him. Concern overtook him, as it could be known to do, especially when he was inebriated.

"Mademoiselle, are you alright?" he asked.

Marie was unusually exhausted. "Monsieur, there really is no need to pretend you care," she breathed, looking at him expectantly. This was it, this was when he would ask her how much it would cost him.

"I... I didn't... ?" Grantaire fumbled for words. She seemed so tired and so put off by his words of concern that it was almost alarming.

"I'm not stupid, I know why you called out to me and so do you. And I would really like to get home at a decent time so if we could just-"

Grantaire finally understood the implications of what she had said and was quick to shake his head, waving his hands as if to silence her.

"You misunderstand, that is _not _why I called you over here," he defended.

Marie would have doubted his words were it not for the sudden realization that was all too clear in his eyes.

Instead of standing and hurrying out of the room humiliated as she wanted to, or arguing with him further, she stayed where she was, her eyes brightening for just a moment.

"Well then, why did you?"

Grantaire paused. Why had he?


	3. Patria, the Skeptic

Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis.

_Thanks so much to those who are reading! :)_

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The two cynics sat in silence for some time, just staring. It was uncomfortable, but neither did anything to break the silence.

Marie had nothing to say, and she wondered why the young man had called her over when he clearly did not, either. She furrowed her eyebrows for a moment, wondering if she had been correct after all. Perhaps he felt guilty or embarrassed of his original intention, and she had misread it as surprise that she would have accused him of such a thing. Either way, perhaps it was best if she just left. But then she felt herself still rooted to the spot, waiting expectantly for the young man to say something.

Finally, he did.

"Mademoiselle," he broke the silence, concentrating on his words so that they did not come out too garbled. "I simply called you over because I have never seen you here before, and you were sitting alone."

Marie raised an eyebrow. "And you've never seen someone sit by themselves before?" she asked. It was a strange reason to call out to someone, in her opinion.

Of course, she had briefly overheard the ranting of his friends. They spoke of rebellion and of sticking up for the people. She scoffed at the idea. These bourgeois boys spoke with beautiful words, but she knew that the new France that they spoke of would never exist. There was simply no way. These boys could get themselves killed, speaking like they did. It was treason, and though she had no love for the French government, she knew that it was against the law. Why, when these boys had the money they needed to live perfectly happy lives, were they meeting in the dingy little café speaking of revolution? It was idiotic.

Seeing as he had not answered yet, she decided to press further. "Or is this part of your plans?" she asked, "I've heard enough since I've been here... You want to help the poor?" she questioned.

She did not wat for an answer. "Yes, I see now. You want to help the people; and so you speak of revolution and reach out to the gamine sitting in your café."

The young woman's words, which were harsh and biting, were starting to attract the attention of the others in the room. She was not speaking too loudly, or so she thought, but apparently the unfamiliar voice had drawn unwanted attention towards her. The young man who had called her over just stared at her with a sort of thoughtful expression on his face, still making no move to speak. He was probably too drunk. Marie smirked despite her instinct to cower back, to get herself away from the shocked yet pitying eyes of all of these schoolboys. She did not need their attention nor their pity.

"You've found a new friend, R?" Bahorel's voice altered Grantaire to the fact that others had noticed the young woman.

He was struck by her confident speech, when she had seemed so shy only moments before. Honestly, he wished he was just a bit more sober so he could speak in more intelligent sentences than the ones he was sure to come up with soon. He wanted to laugh, Patria was a skeptic, too. His eyes moved toward Enjolras for a moment, and the chief held his gaze for just a second before his too moved to the young woman who occupied one of the seats typically reserved for the _Amis_.

"Friend?" Marie questioned, "Ah, no... He has found a new urchin to pity, isn't that right?" she asked, her gaze hardening as it drifted back to the young man called R.

"Well, I do not need help, and I can assure you that this rebellion you plan will end in the same place that it began. It is no use trying to change the world."

Grantaire simply let out a short laugh. "Oh, Mademoiselle, you are as much a skeptic as I!" he exclaimed.

Marie was entirely confused. If this man was a skeptic, why was he even there? His friends seemed to speak with such passion, he just did not fit. It didn't make sense.

"Grantaire, perhaps if you would put that bottle down, you would be able to give the girl an answer that didn't leave that look on her face." Grantaire was surprised that it was Enjolras speaking, not sharply, though the words were plenty harsh, he seemed almost amused. Perhaps it was getting too late even for Enjolras to debate politics, for he was sure that this young woman's skepticism was a perfect launching point for one of his beautiful speeches.

"My head is clear," he lied. "It is just hard to believe, Enj. Patria is a skeptic!"

Marie grew more confused by the moment.

Enjolras merely sent the drunkard a questioning look.

"Is this not Patria?" he asked, gesturing toward the woman in front of him. "Look at her!"

The young men all did. Marie shrank into her seat. She had come in expecting to remain invisible, to warm up before she trudged back to her apartment. Not to become the example of _Patria_, whatever the hell that meant.

"She is clearly poor, looks like she had not eaten properly in some time. Downtrodden and oppressed... The state of our nation, correct?"

Grantaire could almost swear he saw the corners of Enjolras's mouth twitch up just a bit, urging him on.

"So she is too skinny, and her clothes are tattered, and she is dejected, just look at her!" He was repeating his previous words now, a sure sign that he was drunk. "But she doesn't have to be this way. She could be dressed in a fine gown, and she could be clean, and then she would be called a lady and have rich young boys fawning over her. She could be beautiful."

Marie would have been offended if what he said was not true. Instead, she just felt embarrassed.

"And so your revolution would help her," he directed this at Enjolras, who stared at the young man with a sense of curiosity, no longer bothered that he had been pulled away from his previous work. He'd never heard Grantaire even bother to make an argument such as this before.

"But she is a skeptic! She does not want the help. She thinks it is a lost cause as I do!"

Marie's eyes darted around the room and suddenly she felt like she needed to leave, even if these people apparently wanted to help her. She knew better than to get her hopes up that things would improve, and in any case she was too proud to accept charity even in her dismal state. Quickly, and to everyone's surprise, she stood up.

"He's drunk, but I agree with him," she said, already on her way to the door, longing for the cold night air she had been trying to escape from only moments before, wanting the invisibility it gave her. His words shook her for some inexplicable reason, and she did not want to give any indication of this.

"Patria needs help, yes, but she will never accept it." She spoke not only of herself, but of France. "Or, if she does, your help will only be scorned by those who do not understand... You try to change the world so fast, but look how many times it has been attempted before," she was speaking to the entire café now, standing close enough to the door that she could make a hasty exit as soon as she was finished. "Nothing will change."

With that, she opened the door and stepped out into the night, hearing a voice behind her, the voice of the leader.

"You are mistaken," it reached her ears and stung for some reason she could not explain, "Come back again and you will see."

She did not respond, she was already moving out into the street.

Grantaire remained staring at the door for some time after she was gone.


	4. Patria Returns

Disclaimer: Yepp, still down own Les Mis.

_Thanks so much to those of you that reviewed! I'm glad you like it :). _

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It was nearly a week before the young woman visited the Café Musain again. She was not even sure why she had come, other than the fact that it was the one place she could think of that might be safe. The boys were dreamers with their heads in the clouds, but for now, it was just talk. People from the street rarely wandered in, and drinks were cheap. She needed a place to go, and the café was literally the only place she could think of.

Just before she pushed the door open, she paused. She was not sure she wanted to go in. The patronizing and pitying looks she would receive would irritate her, she was positive. But what other choice did she have? After the week she had, going back home did not seem like an option that evening, and she honestly could not bear to walk the streets, either. She was completely exhausted, mentally and physically, and maybe just for once, pity might be welcome. At least she wouldn't feel so damn alone.

So, whether it be for warmth, alcohol, or companionship, Marie pushed open the door to the café and stepped inside.

"Patria has returned!" Jean Prouvaire spoke as soon as he saw the young woman enter the room, his eyes traveling towards Grantaire, a slight smirk on his face.

In the week she had been gone, the Friends had taken to calling the stranger Patria. And, thanks to Prouvaire, it had been assumed that Grantaire was smitten with the girl. Even Enjolras joined in on the joke - occasionally of course, for he was usually too busy for such matters.

Grantaire laughed at the jokes, but secretly worried about the young gamine the entire time. Each time she was brought up, he wondered why she had not returned. Of course he knew the answer. His theory had made her uncomfortable, and of course she did not want to return. But despite that, the Friends had somehow grown fond of the girl they had only once met, even though she stood against what nearly all of them believed in.

His eyes met hers for a moment, as she was already on her way to the back of the room, seeming to ignore the boy's comment with just a shake of her head.

"Well, are you going to go talk to her?" Prouvaire asked, leaning closer to Grantaire with a smirk. "Go win your lady love."

Grantaire just raised an eyebrow at him, taking a sip from his bottle. It was early in the night, so the wine was not even half gone. He was quite sober. At least as sober as he ever got.

Despite the looks he knew he would get from his friends, he stood up, bottle still in hand, and approached the young woman. He was concerned about her, after all. Though not for the reason that his friends suspected. Just as before, she was too skinny and too pale, and this time there was a bruise blossoming on her cheek, just below her eye covered mostly by curtains of long hair. He approached her carefully, his expression serious.

Marie had already ordered a drink, placing the money on the table before she even ordered to prove that she could pay for it, even looking the way she did. She was not usually one to drink much, but alcohol could wash away pain and leave her with a numbness that she so desperately needed in that moment. She wasn't surprised that the young man, actually looking decently sober at the moment, approached her.

"Mademoiselle," Grantaire spoke as soon as he was standing near enough, "We have missed you this week."

"None of you even know me," Marie pointed out flatly. These boys really were going to pretend to care, weren't they? Or even worse, _actually_ care. "As I said before, you all really shouldn't bother worrying about people like me. Our lives won't change. Just enjoy yours."

Grantaire didn't ask to sit, he just did. It was brash of him, and he knew that, but he couldn't let her sit there alone. Perhaps Enjolras really had gotten to his head, but even if he did not stand for their revolution, something made him want to fight for this Patria.

"You're hurt."

"Wonderful observation."

And there was the patronizing look. She should have stayed away from the café. But at the same time, it felt nice to have someone care even if it was just because of his stupid cause that would fail - some sort of revolutionary guilt.

Grantaire studied her for a moment. She looked exhausted, and the drink in her hand was nearly empty, probably due to the fact that she tipped her head back every few seconds, draining its contents quite quickly.

"Why have you returned?" he questioned. Clearly, she was not the kind of the person it was even worth beating around the bush with. Despite the fact that he stumbled through most of life drunk, he was quite observent.

"Your liquor is cheap," she answered shortly, draining the last few drops from the cup and placing it back on the table.

Grantaire frowned. He knew he was the last person who should be concerned with the amount of alcohol someone was consuming, but at least he had friends to help him stumble back to his flat. As far as he could tell, this girl was alone. And whoever was in her life, well, the bruise on her cheek could not have been caused by any accidental injury. Clearly, someone had hit her. It was disgusting to think about, really. She was small and looked much to fragile to be able to defend herself.

"That can't be the only reason," he pointed out. "There are plenty of other bars with alcohol just as cheap as here," he told her, "I would know."

Marie laughed, "Wow, you really aren't as ignorant as I would have thought." The words probably were probably offensive, even though it was a compliment in a way. But honestly, the one time before he had spoken to her, he had been completely drunk, it was her only impression of him. What did he expect?

"Everyone says that," Grantaire took the joke well, taking a swig from his bottle.

There was silence for a moment, as Marie had nothing to say, and Grantaire couldn't think of anything.

Finally, he spoke once more.

"But no... You really are hurt. Joly could look at it for you if-"

Marie narrowed her eyes. "I'm not a charity case!" she snapped. "It's a bruise, nothing I can't deal with."

Grantaire threw up his hands as if to surrender. "It was only a suggestion. Calm down, Patria."

"You're not _really _calling me that, are you?"

"But we are," Prouvaire said as he approached the table as well. Some of the others had sent him to aid Grantaire, mostly as a joke. His smile faltered slightly when he saw the nasty bruise on her face, but he said nothing as he sat down. "Welcome back, Patria."

Marie rolled her eyes, standing up quickly. "I'm afraid I must be leaving, though," she told them. Though, despite the dismissive tone she used, her lips did curve up into a small smile. However, as she moved to step past the table and out of the cafe, a hand closed around her wrist and her first instinct was to flinch back and prepare to run, but then she remembered where she was and who it belonged to. She had already decided that Grantaire was entirely harmless.

"Please, stay just a moment?" he asked, standing as well now. His eyes locked on hers, and in that moment, Marie found herself unable to pull herself free. There was just this genuine concern in his eyes that honestly she had never seen directed at her before in her life. It was almost overwhelming.

She found herself nodding and allowing him to lead her back to the table.

So she had come there for companionship.


	5. An Unknown Kindness

**Disclaimer: Yep, still don't own Les Miserables.**

_Okay, thanks to all of those reading! Also, I'm thinking of writing another story as well that would sort of tie in with this one, but it would on Enjolras. Probably E/É. If anyone has any opinions on that, let me know, so I know if people would want to read it or not. :). Also, there will be more action coming up in these next chapters! _

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Grantaire was actually surprised that the young woman stayed, and Prouvaire was clearly delighted. Of course for him, this was just something to make a poem out of, romantic that he was. Grantaire was happy too. In a way he saw her as a way to redeem himself. Not _only_ that, but he just saw her as the one person that made him really want to fight for anything. Perhaps it was just pity, but he wasn't so sure. Either way, even if he couldn't fight for Patria like Enjolras, Combeferre, and the others could, well, he could at least fight for this version of Patria.

"Well, I'll just leave the two of you alone," Prouvaire said with a smirk, eyeing Grantaire as he stood up, walking back over to the others. Grantaire noticed too late that he had snatched his bottle off the table and carried it back with him. He could have gone to fetch it, but that wouldn't exactly make the greatest impression on the girl, so he made no move to get up.

His hand was still lightly closed around her wrist. At first it had alarmed her, but now it felt comforting. She was no longer used to gentle contact. No, the men she knew now were always rough, leaving scratches and bruises. Here dark eyes stayed fixated on their hands until his voice drew her out of her thoughts, their eyes locking once more.

"May I ask you your name?" he asked her cautiously. She was like smoke, or a small bird, quick to disappear. He didn't want her to disappear again.

"Marie," she told him.

"Pleasure to meet you, Marie," he told her. "My name is Grantaire... They all call me R," he motioned to the others at the table.

His voice was soft and smooth and so beautiful. She would have laughed at herself for even thinking such a thing if it wasn't so comforting, such a welcome relief.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" Marie blurted out a moment later.

Grantaire looked at her slightly puzzled. "Mademoiselle, I'm only treating you as everyone should be treated..." He trailed off. How horribly must the poor gamine be treated if _this_ was her definition of kind? He hadn't missed the way she flinched when his hand closed around her wrist. And, in a moment of panic he realized he was still holding it lightly. Apologetically, he let go.

"I'm not meant to be treated like everybody," Marie mumbled, "I don't get it... You're rich. Why do you bother with gamines like me?" she asked. "You don't have to care."

"Don't say that. You don't deserve to be treated any other way," he told her, leaning closer to her, elbows resting on the table. "Everyone deserves to be cared for."

He knew what it was like, not to be cared for. Or at least for it to feel as if you weren't. He knew his parents cared plenty, the way they paid for university and everything. But the way they ignored him, the way they seemed to judge him for everything he did wrong, every choice he made. It was enough to make him feel worthless. Then, meeting his friends at school - Well, things had been better for a while. Until he opened his eyes to the horrors of the streets, and he started drinking.

"Grantaire, look at me!" she exclaimed. How could he be serious? When she was a noble, she was looked down upon for being a woman and having opinions. Now, she was looked down upon for her awful choices, looked down upon by the same men who snuck out late at night to pay for her services, who stood in dark allies by night, leering at those who walk by, then smile by daylight and pretend that they are better than everyone else. In any case, she was not deserving of respect. She couldn't pretend she lived some honorable life.

"I _am _looking at you," he assured her. He could see just in her eyes how broken she was. Did this girl know any love at all? Subconsciously, he pressed his palm to her cheek gently, his thumb moving over the bruised skin ever so lightly. She didn't flinch away this time. He felt her lean into his hand slightly, her eyes closing, blinking small tears over her cheeks.

His touch was soft and gentle.

He cared.

She cried.

Even the Amis, ready to turn any situation they possibly could into a joke, silenced as they looked on. They had all grown attached to this stranger, this Patria. Marie. And, even though none of them knew her, or anything about her, save Grantaire who knew her name, it was a heart-wrenching sight. He knew that the girl was growing uncomfortable, and that she probably did not want all of the eyes on her, he had gathered that much about her personality.

Looking for approval, he glanced back at the others, his eyes landing on Enjolras who simply nodded. That was all he needed to stand up, pulling the girl up with him.

"Come, Marie," he told her. She did not protest. He led her down the stairs and out of the café, his arms wrapping around her to protect her from the cold, and because it seemed whatever invisible thread was holding the girl together had snapped and she seemed as if she might fall apart at any moment.

He was never good at comforting people, and he had little to no experience with women, but somehow he knew what to do. He let her bury her head in his chest and gently stroked her hair with the other. Despite the dirt and grime, she was soft like the petal of a flower - an analogy he had probably learned from Prouvaire - and he didn't want to let her go.

The two stood in the night, Grantaire holding tightly to his Patria, Marie crying silently in the arms of the first person to show her kindess in as long as she could remember.


	6. Safety

Disclaimer: Wow... Chapter 6 and I still don't own anything.

_Thank you guys so much for the reviews! They mean a lot :). _

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Marie felt so warm in his arms, despite the cold night air that whipped around them. One one hand, she was mortified that she had fallen apart in front of so many people, but on the other, she was happy she had. She was tired - so tired of being strong all the time, so tired of biting back tears wen all she wanted to do was sob, so tired of crawling into bed every night sore and wishing she wouldn't wake up in the morning. Crying alone made her feel empty. Crying into Grantaire's chest was more of a release, as if he were a reminder that she was not alone.

His fingers running through her hair sent shivers down her spine, but the good kind, not the kind one got from wandering the less than safe streets at night. She pressed herself closer to him, breathing him in as her breath finally started to slow, her tears slowly stopping. He smelled like wine, but not in the bad way - not the stale, dirty smell of alcohol that so many of her nightly customers did. No, in more of a sweet musky way that was so comforting.

He could feel her small hands pulling at his shirt as she clung to him. No one had ever clung to him like that. No one had ever needed him. With one hand he began to rub her back gently in attempt to soothe the small hiccups and sobs that still occasionally made her gasp for air. The fabric of her dress was thin, much too thin for her to be walking around in at this time of year. Beneath the scraps of fabric, he could feel her bones - how they protruded too far through her skin. His hand ran over her lower ribs and she flinched. He moved his hand immediately, looking at her with concern.

"Are you hurt?" he murmured. He knew that she probably would not tell him if she was, but he was hoping. "Honestly, if you are, tell me. Joly is studying to be a doctor - He isn't one yet but don't let that scare you - he's brilliant."

Marie froze. Her side had been hurting for two days now. The other night, she had tried to refuse a customer. He hit her. Of course, Madame Fosse allowed it. In fact, she encouraged it.

_"That little whore," she hissed, "Maybe you can beat some sense into her._ _Teach her not to refuse money when it comes. After all, little mademoiselle it's your job now." _

Of course, it wasn't as if Marie got to see much of the money she earned. Madame Fosse pocketed most of it, leaving her with barley enough to live by. Of course, it wasn't as if she could complain to the law about her unfair work conditions. It wasn't honest work. Not like she hadn't tried... But no one would hire a gamine like her. Pretty little grisettes got the factory jobs, and people like her took to the streets.

She couldn't just tell them how it had happened. Though, perhaps they would not ask questions. People got mugged on the street all the time. She could lie. Normally she would just wait it out, but it had been two days, and every breath still came with a sharp pain. So, instead of protesting, she merely nodded, hesitating before she spoke.

"Thank you, Monsieur... But.. I cannot pay."

She supposed they knew this about her, but she felt the need to warn him anyway. She couldn't very well just go in there and leave if some sort of payment was required.

"It is really no trouble, Marie," he told her, "Joly will be happy just to have a patient to practice on. Really, you'll be doing him a favor."

Marie felt the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. "Well, I'm glad I could be of assistance."

"Are you ready to go back inside?" she checked with her, placing his hands on her shoulders and pushing her away from him gently, so he could look at her.

She gave him a small nod of approval and he smiled at her, hoping it was comforting on some level. She smiled back, so he figured he was doing a good job.

* * *

A half hour later, Marie found herself upstairs. Apparently, the leader of the group lived in a flat above the café, and he allowed the man called Joly to take her up there, Grantaire following not far behind. The others had stayed downstairs, still discussing the same plans she had heard them discussing when she had last visited.

"Okay, I need to get a look at your ribs..." Joly told her. It had become clear to the group how skittish the young woman could be, which was no surprise when they considered the bruise on her cheek and whatever was hidden beneath the thin fabric of her dress. "I won't try to-"

"It's fine," Marie assured him. It was strange, how careful they were being with her - as if she were too easily breakable or something.

Nodding, he peeled the fabric of her bodice off of her. Grantaire, she noticed, averted his eyes politely.

She lay in the bed silently, her eyes focused up at the ceiling. The mattress was much softer than any she had slept on in quite some time, and so comfortable that she could have fallen asleep right there if not for the stabbing pain whenever Joly touched the sensitive area.

_"Oh," _she gasped when he pressed just a little too hard, tears welling in her eyes in spite of herself. She knew the man was not trying to hurt her.

As soon as the sound escaped her lips, Grantaire was there, gripping her hand. She squeezed back. His eyes were still averted, focused somewhere on the wall behind her. For a drunk, he was incredibly polite.

After a few more minutes, Joly sighed. "There is a lot of bruising," he told her. Of course she could have noticed that. "And there may be a small fracture." Marie's eyes widened slightly. She hadn't expected that.

"There isn't much I can do, but I recommend bedrest, as much as possible," he told her.

Marie almost had the urge to laugh. As if she could afford to spend a few days just _resting._ The idea was nice, but she'd starve, spending that much time off the job. She would just have to let it heal like the rest of her injuries, deal with it until it was gone.

Joly helped her back into her dress, as it was difficult to move, and far less painful with the help of another person. Grantaire didn't look at her until she was decent again.

"I don't want to sound rude," he said quickly, glancing from Marie to Joly, then back to Marie. "But... do you have any place to rest?" he asked her. Of course he did not want to assume that she had no home at all, but there was a good chance. And, even if she did, whoever did this to her might be there - The thought of her going back there struck a chord, and he didn't want to allow it to happen.

"I'll be fine, Grantaire, really," she assured him, shrugging.

He ignored her. It was the answer he expected.

"You are welcome to stay with me until you're healed," he offered.

Marie shook her head, "No I couldn't," she protested.

"Marie," he told her, dropping his voice, and making eye contact with her. "I know you don't want help. But you need it. I don't know who did this to you, or why, but I do know that you need a place to go. I also know it is far too cold outside for you to be wearing that, the wind probably cuts right through it. You'll get sick."

If only he knew.

"I told you, I'm not your charity case."

"No, you're not. You're a friend. What are friends for?"

Marie was going to protest and say that they were strangers, but she couldn't. Honestly, she had cried in his arms. That was something, given the fact that she was so closed off from everyone. She hadn't told him a thing about her life besides her name, but he had seen her in her must vulnerable state. And instead of leaving, he stayed, and he actually cared. And his friends cared.

For a moment, she thought about it - he could be her friend. The others could be her friends, too. She could _actually have friends _for once in her life. She would be lying if she said it wasn't nice.

She had not given him an answer, but Grantaire had moved over to the end of the bed, opening a trunk that sat there. For some reason unknown to him, despite that fact that Enjolras seemed to detest him, he found himself laying on the floor in that very room, the morning sun piercing through the window making his head throb. The blankets always went back in the trunk. Surely Enjolras wouldn't mind.

He pulled out a quilt and wrapped it around Marie's shoulders. It practically swallowed her small frame.

"Come with me," he pleaded with her.

He had gotten through to her so far, and hell if he was going to let her wander back out onto the street. Joly would have a heart attack, all the health risks that involved.

"Really, Mademoiselle, it will be better. You will heal faster," Joly urged.

Marie was already nodding, preparing to stand up, but Grantaire had already tucked his arm under her knees, the other under her shoulders. He was not the strongest, but the young woman barely weighed anything. She was too exhausted to insist that she could walk, and so she instead just let her head rest on his shoulder, her eyes closing mostly so she wouldn't have to look anyone in the eye - it was almost embarrassing, that she wasn't supporting herself. Part of her wondered if he might stumble and fall down the stairs, because she was certain that he had probably had a decent amount to drink. But somehow, he didn't.

"I'm taking her home to rest," he told the others. Marie could tell, from his tone of voice, that he was in some way asking for permission. His heart sort of raced slightly in her ear, and she felt bad. She hoped she wasn't getting him into some sort of trouble.

"Of course," she recognized it as the voice of their leader, "I hope she recovers quickly."

Not long after she heard the voice, they were back out in the streets of Paris once more.


	7. In Which Things Take a Turn

Disclaimer: Yepp, still don't own it.

_Thanks again to all who reviewed and followed! I really appreciate it! So this chapter is actually kind of heavy. I wasn't sure exactly what direction I wanted to go with it at first, but I'm actually pretty happy with how it turned out. _

* * *

Grantaire was careful the entire walk back to his flat, cradling the girl against him and making sure the blanket did not fall from around her. The cold wind was cutting through even his own coat - how had she managed to walk around the way she did? Her eyes hadn't opened once since they left, and he was not sure why. Figuring she may be trying to rest, he didn't speak. He didn't want to disturb her. She had every right to be exhausted.

How could this be allowed and accepted? Sure, most Parisians didn't love the idea of poor walking the streets, but most ignored them, pretending as if they didn't exist. This girl, this gamine... She was broken and it was the fault of everyone who ignored the problem. He wondered if it was a result his semi-sobered mind or the girl in his arms, but he was starting to take Enjolras's words more to heart. Maybe he was right, after all. There was still the fact that they would probably all get themselves killed, but maybe it was worth it, if others truly did rise to take their place. Then Marie wouldn't have to live this way anymore. She would get help whether she wanted it or not.

"You'll sleep in my bed," Grantaire spoke as he carried her into his flat, leaving no room for argument. He had a couch he could sleep on, and honestly he didn't sleep much anyway. His head was starting to ache, which he knew must be from a lack of alcohol, and he was not so sure he wanted to get as drunk as he usually had to in order to fall asleep that evening. So, he probably wouldn't be sleeping anyway. The young man didn't explain any of this to the young woman, however, and instead carried her into his room.

Her eyes fluttered open as soon as he spoke, "No, monsieur, I will sleep on the couch," she insisted. "You are already being far to kind."

Grantaire shook his head, gently setting her on the floor, keeping a steady grip on her until he was sure that she was standing. "Call me Grantaire," he insisted, "And no, I will take the couch. You need to rest."

Inside the flat, it was warm, much warmer than her own dingy little apartment. She let the blanket slip off of her shoulders, she wouldn't be needing it in a moment anyway.

Grantaire's eyes flashed briefly to her as he heard it fall to the floor. Her dress was visible again, as well as the cream colored skin of her neck, shoulders, and chest. Mentally, he scolded himself. He was no Marble Man, like his leader who seemed to be able to ignore the fairer sex all together. No, Grantaire realized that the young gamine was beautiful, even with the dirt, scratches, and bruises that marred her delicate skin. However, he quickly forced himself to turn his attention away from her and to the bed, pulling the sheets and blankets back so that she could climb in easily.

Marie felt like a small child being tucked into bed, but she let it happen. It was strange - how one could go dragging themselves around day to day, just going with the motions no matter how exhausted one truly was. Marie had been doing just that for months now, and in the past days, it had only been getting worse. Yet still, she had been able to drag herself through it. But now, all of a sudden, when she found laying in a bed with actually blankets and a comfortable mattress, in a house that was actually warm, with someone who genuinely cared, she could not even bring herself to sit up, or even pull the covers over herself.

"If you need anything, just shout," Grantaire told her. She nodded, her eyes fixing on him for a moment before she let them drift shut as he left the room.

* * *

Grantaire had been correct to assume that he would not be able to sleep. He found himself lying on the couch, staring up at the dusty ceiling above him - he didn't take much time to clean his house - and frowned. It was late, he was tired, but he was actually happy. He should not want alcohol right now. Yet, he did. His head throbbed, and his stomach twisted. He hadn't had anywhere near enough to drink at the Musain.

_Don't get up,_ he told himself, trying to force himself to stay on the couch.

But, of course, he found himself standing up slowly and making his way to the kitchen. He opened a cabinet, his eyes fixing on a bottle of wine.

_You don't need it._

His hand closed around the neck of the bootle.

_Yes you do._

He pulled the bottle from the cabinet, uncorked it with expert fingers, and tipped his head back, nearly sighing with relief when the familiar drink touched his lips. He didn't bring the bottle away until it was nearly gone.

His head was already spinning as he made his way back to the couch, bottle still in hand. He felt like shit, but at the same time, he felt better.

This was why Enjolras hated him so much, he knew. He just could not give up the bottle. It was impossible. The man, the marble lover of liberty, could not understand Grantaire's reasons. He was overwhelmed by everything going on around him, and the only way to turn off his thoughts was this. The numbness that came over him was what allowed him to sleep. It was painful, so painful to be scorned for something that he could not change.

The thoughts circled his head, though they were less painful to think about now. They were muddled, in a sense, and didn't seem as real.

Soon, he was asleep, the bottle still in his hand.

* * *

He awoke barely an hour later to the sound of footsteps. For a moment, he was entirely confused. He was sleeping on the couch, which was strange. Sure, he often woke up in strange places, but why could he be on his couch? He looked down momentarily, seeing a wine bottle on the ground - or rather the shattered glass of what used to be one. It was still dark, meaning he couldn't possibly have been asleep for too long. Though, it seemed like quite a while.

He pushed himself up, pinching the bridge of his nose a bit, trying to clear the headache he knew was forming as if it was at all possible. Then his eyes caught sight of her and everything came flooding back.

"Marie!" he exclaimed, trying to push himself off the couch but stumbling slightly. "You're 'spose ta be in bed."

"I heard something fall and break," she explained, eyeing him carefully.

"I must 'a drop th' bottle," he slurred.

"I can see that," she said. She would almost be amused with his behavior if she didn't realize what it meant. He did not only get drunk with his friends, but clearly, he got drunk to live. She knew plenty of people who were the same way, and she knew how it could affect a person.

Not wanting him to hurt himself stepping over the shattered glass, she made her way over to him, "Come on," she coaxed gently, grabbing his arms to help pull him up. It hurt her side to strain so much, but she ignored it, helping him around the couch and toward his room.

"Buh you're sleep' there," he protested.

"I don't want to rolling off the couch and landing in a pile of glass," Marie said with a shake of her head.

Grantaire knew this wasn't how things were supposed to go. He was supposed to be taking care of her, but he'd gotten drunk, and now their roles had flipped. He tried not to lean on her much, knowing the pain he must be causing her. However, his eyes focused solely on her as he stumbled toward the room. She was so tiny, but she was capable of so much. She was a gamine, but very beautiful. His drunken thoughts took a turn he wished they wouldn't, but he couldn't stop himself.

He was in awe of her, this Patria. Her strength and resilience. After all, how else would she be able to get by the way she was? Walking around with a bruised face and fractured ribs. She was beautiful, and sweet, and she deserved so much more than that.

He stopped in his tracks, just outside the door to his bedroom, and before he knew what he was doing really, he placed a hand on either side of her face and pressed his lips to hers.

There was a brief moment of shock, where she didn't move at all. She should push him away, she should feel uncomfortable. But his lips, even in their haste, were soft and warm and inviting. She answered the kiss, pressing herself up closer to him, her arms wrapping around his neck out of instinct.

But as soon as it had began, it was over. Grantaire's eyes widened.

"Sorry, I'm sorry!" he said quickly, backing up, stumbling only slightly. Apparently, the shock of what he had just done brought him out of his haze at least a bit.

Before Marie could do anything to stop him, he continued to stumble back, back into the living room, she assumed. It seemed wrong to follow him, so witha racing heart and confused mind, she turned and laid back down, not knowing what to make of the situation at all, and still feeling the ghost of his lips on her own.


	8. In Which Grantaire Proves a Point

_Disclaimer: I'm still not Victor Hugo._

_Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! I'm going to try and keep updating this every 2-3 days or so. Things have been getting busier, and and I'm getting to the point where all of the stuff I had pre-written is already published, so it might take me a bit longer to update now, but I will try to keep them coming at regular intervals. _

* * *

Marie woke the next morning feeling comfortable and well rested for the first time in a long time. She remembered all of the events of the night before, but she was trying to push them from her head. Especially from the last one. She had made herself look like a complete idiot in front of her only friend.

He had kissed her, yes. And she had kissed him back. Only, he was drunk and she was completely sober. He hadn't meant to do it. Whatever the alcohol was telling him to do in that moment, he had done.

She could only guess what it had been telling him. Of course, she knew she was not all that pretty - not with the way her skin practically clung to her bones. Though, that didn't seem to stop many people. He knew, thanks to her paranoia, that she was a prostitute. Whether he had wanted that or not, he had kissed her. She only hoped it was some stupid drunk whim that he wouldn't follow up on again.

He was much too good for her, that much was certain.

Really, the part that bothered her was that she wished the kiss would have continued. It had been gentle and warm unlike the kisses she had received lately. Those were just rough and hurried, and ended with her being tossed aside like she was nothing. Though, honestly, she was. She sold herself to be able to eat. She couldn't think of anything that could make a person more worthless than that.

Grantaire was a student, smart even if he was an alcoholic, and actually doing something great for the country. She was nothing more than a prostitute roaming the streets. Pathetic.

Just as she contemplated this, Grantaire slowly pushed the door to her room open, peering inside. Obviously, he figured she might still be asleep. He smiled lightly when his eyes met hers, but it faltered a moment later - he was probably thinking about the night before. He probably regretted it, kissing someone like her.

"Morning," she said dryly.

"Morning..." he said. It was apparent from his tone of voice that he was uncomfortable.

"Look, I get you didn't really want to do it, we can forget it happened," Marie stated bluntly. There was no reason to beat around the bush, it was obvious what each of them were thinking about.

Grantaire was caught off-guard. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to do it, because he knew very well that he did. But in those circumstances... It had been wrong of him. He had been drunk.

"No... I just... It was wrong of me to do that to you," she spoke softly, taking a few steps into the room. Of course, it wasn't as if he hadn't had a few meaningless one night stands. In fact, he was sure he had quite a few. And he knew that the kiss had been innocent enough. Yet still he felt guilty.

Marie just laughed, shaking her head.

"Honestly, it was a _kiss_, Monsieur. It is quite alright."

It was easier to joke about such things than it was to think about the implications of what she had just said - she was used to much harsher actions.

"If you wanted more, it would have been fine, I owe you anyways." The words had slipped out of her mouth so fast she hadn't even realized how strange they probably were until after she had spoken them. That was just the kind of life she lead now. Everyone wanted something in return for their help, and she did not have any money, so it was only obvious what her usual method of paying off debts was. It was disgusting, and it made her want to vomit, but it was her life.

Grantaire stared at her, wide eyed. Did she have no self-worth at all? He couldn't even bring himself to be mad about it, he was actually so upset by it. This young woman, young and the victim of violence and who knew what else, actually believed she owed him something. He knew, of course, that most probably would expect repayment.

"Marie, do you not think you're worth anything at all?" he asked.

Marie just laughed once more.

"Oh, bourgeois boy, seeing the best in people." She shook her head. "I'm a whore, Grantaire. You really don't have to treat me like I'm anything better than that."

By now, she had managed to push herself into a sitting position, noticing that the pain in her side was much less prominent than it had been. Grantaire took a few steps toward the young woman, stopping a few inches from her bed. "You are so much more than where life has tossed you," he told her seriously. He sat down on the edge of her bed.

Marie laughed again, and Grantaire found himself caught between feeling bad for her and wanting to wring her neck.

"I'm serious," he told her. "Honestly, Marie, you can't expect your life to get better if you don't even value yourself."

Marie looked back at him, "I _don't_ expect my life to get better," she corrected him. "I'm not foolish enough to believe that it ever will."

"Let me help you," he told her, an almost desperate air in his voice. "Please." He couldn't help Patria, but he could help Marie. And well, maybe that would help Patria in a way as well.

"I don't need help," she told him though she knew very well that was not true. "I thank you for the help you are giving me now, but once I'm healed, I will be on my way - you have your own life to worry about. You don't need to bother looking after me."

"I want to."

Marie's eyes narrowed. She wanted to slap some sense into him, but she couldn't bring herself to.

She couldn't help but wonder what sort of debt he thought he had to pay off. She wondered why he wanted to help her. They were busy with their revolution, and honestly she was not the kind of person they needed to be worrying about. They were all about equality and all, but she wasn't sure that went for people like her who could not even make an honest living.

Grantaire grabbed her hand, turning it over so her palm faced up. His thumb trailed over the skin lightly, and Marie's gaze softened a bit.

"Marie," he told her, still not letting go of her hand, "I want to help you. My friends want to help you. You've been given a really awful place in life, but that doesn't mean it can't change - you don't deserve any of this."

"I do, though... Do you really think I can go complain to someone about getting beat at work when my job is what it is? I don't even deserve to complain. You really shouldn't waste your time worrying about me."

Grantaire's eyes widened and Marie knew she shouldn't have said anything. "Someone did that to you? Marie, why?"

Marie shook her head, "Doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

Marie groaned, "I just... I didn't feel like working that night."

"Then he should not have touched you!"

Grantaire was clearly upset, and Marie felt bad for even telling him anything. It wasn't his problem to deal with, it was hers. He didn't need to be getting in over his head with business that wasn't his to deal with. But still she didn't make any move to get up. Her hand in his felt wonderful, and despite the fact that she hated to accept charity, she didn't want to leave.

"Yes... " she finally trailed off, "But, he did. That's how things work it is really not anything unusu-"

"Marie!" he cut her off. All of a sudden he found himself holding onto a bony arm with each hand, being careful not to squeeze too hard. He promised himself he would never be the cause of a bruise on her porcelain skin. He never wanted to cause her any pain. "Being beaten and raped is _not _in any way normal," he told her. He couldn't even imagine someone hurting this girl. He couldn't imagine someone striking her and forcing themselves onto her. He couldn't imagine them tossing her to the side as if she was nothing. But it was clear that that was all she expected. She gave herself up to people who didn't give a shit about her, and who treated her like nothing more than the scum she seemed to think she was. _  
_

"Well then I don't know what is normal," she said rather bitterly. Because that was all she had experienced.

He wanted to kiss her again.

He wanted to kiss her the way that she deserved to be kissed.

He was silent for a moment, just staring into her dark eyes, and slowly he pulled her toward him. He brought his lips to her jaw first, and he could feel her shiver slightly when his lips made contact with the soft skin. He trailed kisses along her jaw until finally, he brought his lips to her own. He deepened the kiss after a moment, liking the feel of her lips on his and the feel of her small body pressed up against his own.

Marie could have sworn she was going to melt. Her hands ran up his chest. The muscles were defined, but not overly so. And, for once, they were not being used to pin her down or trap her, or to hurt her. His kiss was different than any other she had experienced. It was slow and beautiful. She didn't want it to stop.

This time, the kiss did not end until they were forced to in order to regain their breath. They both sat in stunned silence for a moment before Grantaire finally spoke.

"_That _should be normal," he told her, "That is how you deserve to be kissed."


	9. In Which there is Laughter and Tears

_Disclaimer: I am Victor Hugo. Except that I'm not. _

_Wow thanks again for all the reviews and follows and everything! I really appreciate it, makes me so excited to write new chapters. I wasn't planning to update again tonight, but I had some time, and I was feeling inspired, so here we go. Some major drama is on the way... _

* * *

Grantaire would have never guessed how much Marie's presence could have brightened his home so much, but honestly it did. He helped her into the living room so she could sit on the couch, and he even tried to cook. It didn't turn out the greatest, but they had pasta for lunch. They ate, drank too much wine, and laughed.

Grantaire told her the real reason he drank so much.

Marie told him about the arranged marriage she'd had before she ran away.

For both of them, it was nice to have a friend - Someone who was not going to judge them for anything in their life, but was just there to listen, and to understand. Marie hadn't felt so close to someone in years, if ever. Even when she had been growing up, her family had never been close. She had never had many friends, and her fiance had been one of the most despicable people she had ever met. Grantaire had many friends, but this was different. His friends saw him as the funny drunk, the cynic. They didn't exactly see _why_ he acted the way he did, and though he loved them with all his heart, this was better.

"I need to head over to the Musain soon," he finally said. Hours had passed and they had not moved from their places on the couch. "Will you be okay here by yourself?"

Marie nodded, "You mean will I be okay in this huge flat with a pantry full of food and the most comfortable bed I've ever slept on?" she asked with a slight smile, "Of course I will be."

Grantaire rolled his eyes - his flat was not really that big, but he was sure compared to wherever Marie lived, it was a palace. He didn't exactly like the idea of leaving her alone, but he couldn't bring her to the café in her condition. Joly would absolutely murder him.

"Keep the door locked," he instructed.

"Grantaire, I will be fine," she assured him. No one knew where she was, no one could come find her. And either way, even though Madame Fosse was awful, she had enough girls, she probably wouldn't even realize that Marie was gone from the docks that evening.

"I know, I know..." Grantaire trailed off as his eyes fixed on her once more.

Marie couldn't help but smile. He had the most adorable smile - innocent and purely happy. The way it lit up his eyes was beautiful. It made her want to kiss him again, but she wasn't sure if she should. Despite all of the things that they had spoken about, they had not discussed the two kisses that they had shared. Marie was convinced he felt bad for her, and so he was trying to make her feel better, though she could not be sure. Grantaire was worried that he was taking advantage of her, and that she would get the wrong idea. He had never been one to believe in love - he was never one to believe in anything. But he just felt so differently about this young woman, it was difficult to explain any other way.

"I just want you to be safe," he told her, a hand resting on her shoulder.

"I'll be fine," she said again, shooing him away playfully, "Now go! Get to the café before your friends think that I kidnapped you." She ruffled his hair lightly, as he stood up, and he let out a laugh.

Yes, he could definitely get used to her staying with him.

* * *

"Grantaire, how is she?"

Joly was on him as soon as he entered the café.

Grantaire had a hard time wiping the smile off of his face as he told his friends that their new Patria was doing well. His friends noticed immediately.

"What has she done to you, R?" Bossuet asked with a smirk, "You're smiling like a fool!"

Grantaire rolled his eyes as he sat down, uncorking a bottle as usual. "I enjoy her company, is all," he told them. He couldn't very well admit that he had feelings for her, it didn't make any sense, it had only been a few days since he had even met her. And besides, he was sure she would be back at the café eventually, and he didn't need to give his friends any more ammunition to tease her with. They would, of course, tease her, he was sure. Especially now that they saw straight through his mask.

"When will the wedding be?" asked Prouvaire, sitting down next to him. "I do hope we are all invited!"

All of _les Amis _laughed heartily, not stopping until Enjolras cleared his throat. It had taken Grantaire that long to realize that he was there a few minutes late, instead of his usual half hour early, and he looked at him questioningly, only to see Marius's shadow scurry into the room behind him. He raised his eyebrows slightly, wondering what the marble lover of liberty could possibly doing with the young woman, but he knew he would not ask. Enjolras was irritated enough at the bottle in his hand, pressing him with questions would only make things worse.

"I trust the girl is in good health," he said, his eyes meeting Grantaire's for a moment. Grantaire nodded quickly, smiling lightly at the thought of Marie waiting at home.

"Excellent." Enjolras did seem genuinely happy at the news, though he did not dwell on it. As always, there were far more important things he had to deal with. And so the meeting continued on as it usually did. Though for once, Grantaire actually put some stock in Enjolras's words for more than just the reason that Enjolras was the one speaking them. Maybe they could build a better France.

By the end of the meeting, Grantaire was itching to get back home. He hoped Marie was okay. He was sure she was, but he still worried. That, and honestly he was just excited to see her. He tried not to leave too quickly, but hurried nonetheless. He pretended not to notice when Enjolras made his way to where the Shadow sat as soon as the meeting was over, a serious expression on his face.

* * *

"I'm back!" Grantaire called as he turned the key into the lock and stepped into his flat.

He did not receive an answer, and he panicked despite himself. "Marie?" he called almost frantically, though he figured she was probably sleeping. It was late, as always.

Instead of calling again, he made his way to his bedroom. Just as he opened the door, Marie was waking up as a result of his shouting. Her hair was slightly damp, and her skin looked lighter. At first he was confused, but it didn't take him long to figure out that she must have taken a bath. Part of him was worried - she could have easily slipped and fallen while drawing the water or drying off. But he realized that she was already sleeping, so she must have been perfectly fine.

As she sat up, he realized she was no longer wearing the dress that she had been, but rather one of his shirts. Seeing her wearing his clothes made him smile a bit, though he could not exactly place why.

"I hope you don't mind..." Marie said, fingering the soft fabric that hung loosely about her shoulders.

"Not at all," Grantaire assured her. She looked even more beautiful now, with all of the dirt and grime washed off. Yet somehow, she was also difficult to look at. She looked even more fragile than usual. The bruise on her cheek contrasted even more with her skin now, without the dirt that usually shielded it.

"How was your meeting?" she asked a moment later. "Did you remember to thank Joly for me?"

"It went well, and I did," he said with a smile. "Well, I suppose I'll let you go back to sleep... I'm sorry I woke you up." He spoke softly as he closed the door behind him and headed back into the living room. He should have grabbed some pajamas for himself, but he hadn't thought of it, and he didn't want to disturb her again. So he tried to sleep.

* * *

Marie woke up again in the middle of the night to the sound of moaning and panicked breathing.

"Grantaire?" she asked, panicking for a moment, sitting up and getting out of bed, her bare feet padding across the floor into the living room, where she found Grantaire tossing and turning on the couch. She frowned.

Quickly she made her way over to him and sat down at the edge of the couch, though he was bigger than her and took up more room, making it more difficult to find a place to sit. "Grantaire," she said, trying to wake up him, unsurely reaching to brush a bit of his curly hair out of his face. His eyes opened just as she was doing so, and his eyes widened.

He had the nightmare again. One about their upcoming revolution. The one where he watched all of his friends die.

Marie didn't ask him what it had been about, however. Instead, she pulled him towards her and held him against her. The room was slightly chilly, especially given that she was only wearing a cotton shirt, but with him held against her, she forgot all about the chill in the room.

"I woke you up..." he said through shaky breaths. "I'm sorry."

"Just shut up," Marie said, though her tone was not biting in any way. She continued to hold him, he hand trailing over the tensed muscles of his back and shoulders, not stopping until she felt them relax beneath her fingers.

"Are you alright?" she questioned.

Grantaire nodded, pulling himself up. He hadn't realized how upset he had truly been until she realized that his eyes were wet with tears. He felt immediately humiliated, had he really cried in front of the young woman? Marie didn't seem to care, however. Her expression was concerned.

"Yes, yes I'm fine..." he told her.

Marie was starting to panic. She could tell he was calming down, but the fact that him even so much as looking upset was affecting her so much was rather alarming. She wasn't supposed to care about people. And she _definitely _wasn't supposed to care this much.

"Good," she said, her heart rate finally returning to normal upon realizing that he really was okay.

Without leaving him time to argue, she reached for his hand and stood up, "Come on," she ordered, half dragging him with her to his room. The bed would be plenty big enough for both of them. It would be easier to sleep with him there, anyway.

That was the first night either of them found themselves sleeping tangled in a mess of arms and legs and actually feeling comfortable doing so.

* * *

_AN: Okay, I feel like this might have rushed a bit, but I didn't want the chapter to be too long. Also, I added in a bit of implied E/É. I'm still thinking about writing an E/É fic that would tie in with this one. If anyone would be interested in reading it, you should totally let me know. I'll probably end up writing it anyway after I'm done with this one, but I want to make sure someone would want to read it first haha. Thank you! _


	10. Brujon

_Disclaimer: I am still not Victor Hugo._

_Thanks for all of the reviews and follows! And for your input on the E/É story. I think I'll start working on it soon, once I get enough of a plot idea in my head. Hope you all enjoy the chapter! _

* * *

Grantaire woke up before Marie did. The moment his eyes opened, he had intended to go get a bottle of wine from the kitchen - he hadn't had nearly enough to drink the night before. However, he had nearly forgotten where he was. His eyes opened slowly, and a sleeping Marie came into focus.

She was curled up next to him, barely an inch separating them. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders and his shit nearly swallowed her whole. Her chest rose and fell steadily and slowly. She would have seemed peaceful if it were not for the look on her face. Her face looked almost tense, like she was frightened. Worry crossed Grantaire's face.

Without a second thought, he turned on his side so that he was facing her, holding himself up with one arm and rubbing her back gently with the other. His fingers traced her skin lightly so as not to wake her up. Slowly, she seemed to relax. Whether she was conscious of it or not - he had no idea - she moved closer to him, her forehead resting on his chest.

Suddenly, he didn't need a drink anymore.

This was enough.

* * *

The week passed by quickly. And, as much as Grantaire wanted Marie to fully recover, it saddened him. She was flighty, and she knew that he would keep to her word and leave that evening. He had brought up the possibility of her staying with him - she was doing so well. With just a week of actually eating, her bones were less visible and her skin glowed. She was far healthier than she had been. He didn't want to send her back out there... Even though she did promise to visit Café Musain often. He was just scared for what she would encounter. And, he had to admit, a bit upset about the idea of her going back to her old profession.

"If not for yourself, do it for me," he begged, trying the last possible thing he could think of.

He sat with Marie in the kitchen, steaming cups of coffee in front of each of them, though they were untouched.

"I haven't even gotten completely drunk once since you've been here... Well, except that once," he pointed out. That should make her happy - she told him how she believed it was bad for his health.

"And you can continue when I'm gone," Marie dissuaded him quickly. "I'll be there to check up on you," she reminded him.

It was taking all of her willpower not to accept his offer. She wanted nothing more than to stay, but she simply couldn't. It wouldn't be right.

"Marie, I don't think it is safe to go back out there. You can stay here," he offered for the hundredth time that morning.

"I told you I will be fine. I have things I must take care of," she explained, also for the hundreth time that morning.

Grantaire was growing more desperate by the moment. He didn't want her to leave. He couldn't let her leave. He couldn't go back to living alone again, with no one to talk to. He had grown so used to her company. Now she was just going to leave. She had just healed. The bruise on her cheek was gone.

"I might even be able to get a job wearing this," she said with a smile. She wore a dress that, after much convincing, she finally allowed Grantaire to buy for her. It was deep blue fabric that contrasted with her pale skin, fashionably cut and everything, even in it's simplicity. Marie couldn't stop looking at herself the first day she'd worn it, but she still knew her words were not entirely true. She may look like a grisette, but she was still nothing more than a gamine, even in her new gown.

Grantaire sighed, knowing there was going to be no winning the argument, though it was frustrating him even more.

"Marie, _please,_" he pleaded once more, not caring how pathetic it looked. He knew he shouldn't even care so much. Friends did not need to live together. Though, the line of their friendship was quite blurry. He was pretty certain that normal friends did not hold each other as they slept, either.

"I can't!" Marie was getting frustrated now. Could he not understand that she simply could not accept his charity like that? She had to go back to her own home and face her problems.

"Yes, you can!" he countered, "The only person stopping yourself is you!" Out of frustration, he stood up quickly, his hands slamming down onto the table much harder than he had meant them to. His heart broke as he saw Marie flinch back out of instinct. She was practically cowering in her chair.

Grantaire took a deep breath. "Marie, I would never hurt you," he said gently, reaching out and touching one of the small arms she held up in front of her face. Slowly, she lowered him.

"Right... I know," she said, feeling stupid. She wished that wasn't her damn instinct. She had learned a lot about Grantaire since she had been there, especially that he was not a violent man, even when he was drunk. He made plenty of jokes, and stumbled around like an idiot, but he was not dangerous. She could tell he felt guilty.

"Just stay with me," he implored her, for one last time, ash he leaned toward her, lowering himself down to meet her gaze. He held it for a moment before pressing his lips to hers in a last-ditch effort.

She had been waiting for this, though she didn't even realize until now, since the last time they had kissed. She deepened the kiss, closing her eyes as his tongue explored her mouth, hers doing the same to his own. This kiss was more urgent, less gentle than the ones before. She felt his arms snake around her waist, pressing her close as he stood, bringing her up with him. Her hands ran up his arms and to his chest as she placed kisses along his jaw, and neck.

She shouldn't be taking things this far... But it felt so good. So perfect and wonderful.

A soft groan escaped him as her lips pressed to his neck, sending shivers down his spine and causing him to crush her even closer to him. He could feel him smile against him as he did so.

Seeming to lose all control even without the influence of alcohol, he backed her up until they reached the couch. It was, come to think of it, a bit of a long walk, but neither of them noticed as they tumbled onto the couch, her beneath him. He held himself up to avoid crushing her, but his lips continued their path from her lips down her neck, causing a small gasp to escape her lips this time.

His hands moved to her sides now, trailing up her stomach as hers did the same to him. In that moment, he could sense how desperate she truly was to stay with him, even if she tried to hide it, and she could sense that he had been speaking the truth. Having him close was unlike any feeling she had ever had before. It was like heaven.

But no.

She did not deserve heaven. She was an urchin, a whore. He deserved much more. She was not meant to receive these sweet kisses. He deserved far better than her. She pushed against his chest, as much as it pained her, and wiggled out from underneath him. Grantaire looked at her, truly confused. It seemed as if she had been enjoying it, even needing it as he did. But apparently he had been wrong.

"Grantaire, I've got to go. You heard what Joly said, it's been a week."

She scrambled off the couch and avoided looking at him.

"Why are you so scared?" he called after her as she scrambled to the door - it wasn't as if she had belongings to collect.

Marie ignored the question and opened the door, hurrying down the stairs and out into the streets of Paris, wiping tears from her eyes.

_Oh, Bourgeois Boy, I don't deserve you. You don't know what you've gotten yourself into._

* * *

"It has been three days, R," Joly said, his lips pressed into a tight line. "What the hell happened?"

Grantaire frowned, taking yet another swig of wine.

"I already told you. She took off... She said she was going to visit, but she hadn't yet. You know as much as I do."

Even Enjolras seemed slightly concerned, though Grantaire couldn't even begin to understand why he would be. He was never one to be concerned with matters of the heart. Which, after all this time, he had finally come to terms with the fact that it was. Mostly because his chest felt like it had been shot through, and even alcohol wasn't numbing him as it should.

"I'm worried about her," Jehan spoke seemingly out of nowhere. "She should have come back by now..."

Grantaire shrugged, "Maybe she just doesn't want anything to do with me," he mused. It was actually easier to think of that than to think of the possibility that she could be hurt or in danger.

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the door bursted open. It was late, past midnight, so no one should have been there. The café had technically been closed for hours.

He stood up immediately when he saw who it was, but she was not alone. She still wore the dress he bought her, but the week seemed to have nearly destroyed it. A man had her by her hair, and she looked as if she had been crying. "Is this it?" he asked, "Is this where the little rich boy who bought you that fancy dress comes? Don't think I didn't see you trying to sneak here last night!"

Marie didn't answer. The man yanked her head back, and she yelped in pain.

The remaining Amis - Grantaire, Enjolras, Joly, and Jehan - were all standing now.

Grantaire locked eyes with Marie. What the hell was going on? Instinctively, all four of them seemed to step forward at once.

"Got yourself a little army?" the man asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I don't know them!" she squeaked. She couldn't let them be associated with her. It had been stupid of her to try and come back here.

"Really? Because they seem to recognize you."

Marie looked at the four with panicked eyes, pleading silently with them not to say anything.

This man was a member of one of Paris' many gangs. After one night, a couple of weeks before, he had decided that she was his. She refused his advances, and she thought after being gone for a week he wouldn't be around anymore, but she had been wrong. Half the reason she had left Grantaire that day was to ensure that he was gone, because she knew how he could be, and she couldn't have Grantaire be associated with her. It wouldn't be safe.

Grantaire and the others picked up on her signals well, but they knew they could not just stand there and let this happen. It was clear the man was dangerous.

"You know her?" he asked, his eyes scanning over the group of schoolboys. "My little whore of a girlfriend been here lately?"

"I already told you, _I don't know these people!" _She was not going to let these people get involved in this. She couldn't let anything happen to Grantaire. _  
_

"Stop lying!" the sadistic man kept a hold on her hair as he kneed her in the stomach, causing her to wretch and making it impossible to speak as she caught her breath. However, the hand that had been digging into her scalp released her all of a sudden, and she fell to the ground. The four Amis were rushing forward, murder in their eyes as they reached the man called Brujon.

Marie felt sick. They may be able to get rid of the man for now, but what would happen when the rest of the gang learned of this?


	11. In Which Enjolras Intervienes

_Disclaimer: I still am not Victor Hugo, and I never will be._

_Okay, I've been updating so much, but I can't stop writing at the moment - even though I really should because I have homework to work on, but oh well... So, here goes another chapter! _

_Thanks for the reviews and suggestions! More backstory on Marie will be coming in the next couple of chapters. _

* * *

Grantaire was not a violent man, but hearing a sickening as his fist came in contact with the man's nose made him feel the closest thing to joy he'd felt all day. The image of his filthy hands intwined in Marie's hair and his hot breath on her face made him feel sick with anger. Pure adrenaline coursed through his viens, seeming to erase the effects of the large amount of alcohol he had consumed that evening. He had to get this man away from Marie - far away. Part of him wondered if he was the one who had beat her before, and he could only guess what else had happened this time. He aimed another punch at the man, his fist crashing into his stomach.

It should have been an easy fight. There were four of them and one of him. But somehow, he managed to maneuver out of Jehan's grasp, and all four froze when they saw the glint of silver. The man had a knife.

Marie had pushed herself up by this point, ignoring the searing pain in every one of her muscles. Her stomach twisted at the sight of the knife - though not from surprise. She knew he had it, he'd threatened her with it on multiple occasions. But something about him holding it out towards the four young men who were trying to help her made rage boil within her.

Grantaire didn't even seem to pay it any mind as he lunged for the man again, this time receiving a fist to the face himself. However, Enjolras was there to back him up - the revolutionary leader grabbed his arm and twisted it, rendering the knife useless.

"You work for Thénardier," he spat in the man's face.

Grantaire was confused as to how his leader knew this information, but as he nursed the forming bruise under his eye, he didn't even bother to question it. Joly had an arm wrapped around the man's neck now - using his medical knowledge in order to harm someone for the first time - putting just enough pressure that the man stopped struggling, knowing he had lost.

The man laughed, "How 'dyou know that, Bourgeois Boy?" the man asked with a smirk. Clearly, he was not all that concerned about losing at the moment.

Marie was equally as surprised. _Patron-Minette _was well known to street rats like her, but how would this man know about them? It wasn't like he'd have many run-ins with the group. But clearly, he must have known something about it, for she had never seen the revolutionary so angry in her life. Though, she really only had seen him in the café the two times she had been there before now, and at rallies in the street.

The blonde boy did not answer, except with a fist to the man's head. Confusion was obvious on the faces of all of the remaining _Amis_, though mostly because of the fact that he seemed to recognize this man.

His anger was matched only by Grantaire's, who now joined him, standing just in front of the thug.

"Get out," Grantaire spat. "If I _ever_ see you back here again, I will kill you," he threatened. The alcohol was not even a factor in his words. Marie was far too important. He didn't care what the young woman said - he was not letting her go back out there.

"Oh, of course you will," Brujon just laughed. "Good luck."

Marie finally spoke up - she could not allow this to continue. "Please, Monsieur Brujon, leave him. I'll go with you." She took a few cautious steps toward the group, keeping her eyes glued to the ground so she didn't have to see Grantaire's face, or the leer she knew would be plastered on Brujon's.

"Mademoiselle," Enjolras spoke, "There is no need to martyr yourself, I've dealt with these men before."

Marie shook her head, "No, he'll find you... They'll find you all."

"The girl is right," Brujon said with a smirk as he backed away from the group. He was no longer a threat without his knife, though Marie knew better. He would be back if she didn't go with him, and he would be back with a vengeance. "Now come on, love," he said in a voice so sugary sweet that Marie wanted to vomit. But still, she attempted to follow him.

A strong arm wrapped around her waist before she could make it out the door, however. It was Grantaire. "I'm not letting you go!" he yelled, though not in the harsh way that made her want to cower away. "These last few days have been hell, Marie!"

"It's for your own good!" she cried, trying to wiggle free. She couldn't let him risk his life for her. They had more to worry about than just her - They had their revolution. She was just a whore off the street, this was only wasting time. Her life didn't count much so why were they going to such great length to protect it.

"Mademoiselle, you should calm down," Joly said, stepping closer to the struggling girl.

"No! He'll kill you all! And then what will your revolution be?" she cried almost hysterically. "Let me go!"

She was crying and writhing in his arms, but Grantaire did not loosen his grip. The man seemed to have given up for the moment, and was slowly backing away with a smirk still on his face.

"Fine," he said, holding up his hands. "Don't listen to her warning."

Marie thrashed even more, and Grantaire had to wrap another arm around her, pressing her back against his chest.

Brujon ignored this.

"Don't bother, sweetheart," he hissed. "Your friends already sealed their fate."

Marie shook her head violently. "No, no! I'll go with you!" she screamed. "Let me fucking go!"

"Oh, sweetheart, you'll be with me soon," Brujon drawled, "Montparnasse will see to it."

Marie was not the only one who tensed at the name. Enjolras did as well, though there was less terror in his eyes - more anger.

And with that, he was gone.

Marie struggled for a few moments more, ignoring Grantaire's pleas for her to calm down.

"Montparnasse? Who is that?" Jehan questioned.

"Give her a moment!" Joly said, inspecting the girl. "Mademoiselle, please," he said. His words didn't do much. Her gaze had drifted to Enjolras, who was still staring out the open door.

Finally, he slammed it shut and turned to face the others. "We'll need to be careful," he said simply. He was calm as always.

Enjolras did not offer much explanation, either. "He and that man are in the same gang," he said simply. Though, the three others could have easily guessed that. "We'll need to watch the doors. No more guests will be allowed in aside from those who are regulars," he informed them. "Keep Marie off the streets and out of sight," he ordered Grantaire, who nodded swiftly. "Keep yourselves out of the streets as much as possible."

Grantaire would never ceased to be amazed with the man. He was always a leader, it seemed. In everything. But the look in Enjolras' eyes unnerved him. Nothing ever seemed to effect the marble man, but this man did, whoever he was. And clearly, Marie feared him as well, the way she had frozen in his arms at the mention of his name.

Finally, the girl went limp in his arms, as if she had lost all will to fight. Her breathing was ragged, and Grantaire felt awful, but he hadn't had another choice. She couldn't go back with that man. He had no idea what had happened over the past few days, but from the looks of it, nothing good. The bright look in the young woman's eyes that he had grown accustomed to over the week that she had stayed with him was gone now.

"You should have let me go," she breathed, her voice deflated.

Grantaire shook his head, "No, Marie, you're not going back."

"But he'll never go away! He'll never stop," she tried to explain.

...

_"Never seen you here before." Even then, his cold voice sent shivers down her spine. _

_Madame Fosse smirked, "She's new." _

_Marie felt sick, nauseous. _

_She didn't fit in with the rest, that much was clear. Her dress had long sleeves, and her skinny arms wrapped around her middle, as if trying to hide herself, to make herself invisible. But she knew that was not how this profession worked. She wanted out of there so badly, but she really did not have a choice. She had made the choice to leave home, but she had never thought it would come to this. _

_"Ah," he mused, an arm wrapping around her waist, "Perfect."_

_He paid more than she was worth that night. And he kept returning. Each time he did - he would ask for her. She had finally refused one night, and he screamed at her, asking her what sort of girlfriend she was. He was drunk and delusional, actually seeming to believe that the two of them were together. _

_She had run to the Café Musain for safety, realizing too late that he would follow. She realized even the safety of Grantaire's home could not last forever. Eventually, he would have found her there, and there was no doubt in her mind what he would have done to Grantaire. She could not live with that on her conscience._

_..._

Yet now, here she was back at the café. And thanks to her, the young revolutionaries were risking their lives to protect her. _  
_

"He'll follow you, he'll... He'll do whatever he has to to get what he wants. You should have just let me go."

Grantaire loosened his grip just a bit, to turn her towards him. He was too scared to let go completely, worried that she might run off.

He tried to explain that they would keep her safe, but she seemed to be in a state of shock, or panic... He couldn't tell, though he was sure Joly could.

"Mademoiselle." It was Enjolras who finally spoke. "I already told you, there is no need to martyr yourself. We are perfectly capable of handling him and his gang." Marie didn't believe a word of that. Though, perhaps they could. These young men were smart, much smarter than the average gamin. Perhaps _Patron-Minette _ didn't have the same influence on the upper classes as they did on those who lived in the streets.

Grantaire met his gaze for a moment. His was calm and steady - Grantaire's was panicked, his eyes wide with concern for the girl he still held. Why did she insist on giving herself up to this man in order to protect he and his friends? Why couldn't she ever just accept the help he offered her?

"They're all like that," Enjolras commented after a moment, his eyes drifting to Marie, "Brave and foolish." He shook his head, seeming to be talking about someone else completely now, as he turned and made his way back to his seat, burying his head once more in one of the many books that lay open there. Grantaire couldn't even begin to make sense of his words. Ordinarily, the way he adressed him just then would have made him incredibly happy - for he was actually treated like he could stand to be in his presence for once - but his attention was already turned back to the girl.


	12. Confessions

**Disclaimer: Still not Victor Hugo. **

**Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! For those of you wondering, we'll find out about Éponine and Enjolras soon! I'm working on the first chapter. I should have it up soon, but I just don't want to delay this one too much. I really hope this chapter is okay - there were like five different ways I could have gone with it and I had a really hard time making up my mind on which one. But I finally did! It's kind of a filler chapter, but I put some backstory in to hopefully clear things up. So, here goes...**

* * *

"Don't leave," Marie pleaded, gripping tight to Grantaire's wrist as he turned to leave the room.

It was late now, near three in the morning, and the two were finally back at his flat. They had waiting at the café for some time, until they deemed it was safe to go out into the streets. Marie didn't seem to think Montparnasse or Brujon would be out anymore, anyways - though the way she had gripped so tightly to him on the way home and flinched at every little noise told him otherwise. Still, he was relieved that they had made it back without being discovered. She would be safer here, out of the streets, in a home the _Patron-Minette _seemed to know nothing of.

The gun he kept hidden in his top drawer helped to ease his mind as well.

He turned around quickly, nodding in response. She hadn't spoken since they had been at the café - not a single word. He had assumed she was angry with him for not allowing her to leave. But he could not have allowed her back out onto the streets because she had some foolish desire to protect him. No, everything would be fine - he and his friends would just have to be careful, and he would have to ensure that Marie didn't go wandering off the first chance she got.

"I won't ever leave you," he assured her, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She seemed so exhausted, and he could see the tension in her face, her fear was almost palpable.

His hand moved to stroke her hair and her eyes closed at his touch.

Marie wanted to feel safe, she wanted to appear happy so that Grantaire wouldn't worry. She hated herself for letting this happen, but at the same time she was glad.

She had escaped her old life because of a very similar situation. Her parents had arranged for her to marry a man she could not stand. He was cruel and viewed her as little more than a possession that he could do with what he pleased. He was wealthy, and as with most like him, he believed that set him above everyone. She had nearly resigned to simply marry him and live out as happy a life as possible the first time he hit her. Out in the gardens at his father's estate. Had they been alone, it wouldn't have been quite so scarring, but it had been in the middle of their supposed engagement party.

She had been countering his argument that she should keep her mouth shut wherever they went. In his opinion, it seemed she was to be seen but not heard. Always in the background for people to look at, or on his arm for him to show off, but never allowed to have opinions of her own. The thought of marrying him made her sick, and she eventually found herself unable to even put up with it. She rand away one evening, never looking back.

She wondered if anyone even came to look for her. If anyone, it would have been her parents - but they were not especially fond of their youngest daughter, either.

She had thought she was escaping this sort of life - one where she was treated harshly. She had been naive and foolish to even think such a thing. She had dreamed that she'd find work at a factory. She would have been happy to be a grisette - she didn't miss high society. However, she had never imagined how difficult it would be to get a job, and how quickly things could turn sour.

Oh, things had gone sour.

Yet, amidst all of this, there were small moments of happiness.

Grantaire was the source of much happiness - Grantaire and his friends. She may be skeptical of their revolution, but she did not doubt they meant well. They had kind hearts, even their leader, and without their intervention that evening, she could very well be dead or trapped in a life much too similar to that which she had tried to avoid.

She could feel the bed shift as he laid down next to her, and she nuzzled her face into his chest. His heartbeat was calming - constant. It matched perfectly with her own. She smiled in spite of everything that had happened that evening.

The world, as shitty as it was, could take away most things, but it wouldn't be able to take away this moment. It could not take away the feeling she had for Grantaire, though she had tried to convince herself she had none. There was a warmth in her chest and in her fingertips and throughout her whole body. Like the flame of a candle, small but steady. Pure happiness rushed over her in an unexpected moment of bliss.

"I love you," she breathed.

She was half asleep, and she hadn't intended to say the words, but they had slipped out and she would not take them back now. With their revolution drawing near, she feared she would not have the time to speak these words, and she had to tell him. Marie had trained herself to feel nothing for anyone - but in that moment it was entirely impossible.

Before she even had time to panic, she felt his arms around her and his lips on the crown of her head.

"I love you, too."


	13. Better than Wine

**Disclaimer: I'm still not Victor Hugo.**

**Thanks for all of the reviews! You guys are amazing! I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Sorry it's taken me longer than I expected to get this up. It was like this chapter didn't want to be written or something. After this week, things will return to normal again but I'm incredibly busy at the moment.**

* * *

A few days had passed, and Marie and Grantaire once again fell into the familiarity of each other's company. For the both of them, it was an escape from their usual hardships. The most pressing being, of course, that they knew little of love.

Marie was never especially loved by her parents, even as a young child. She was chastised for nearly everything she did - she had never been the most proper young lady. She was never one to sit idly by and pass the time with gossip. She had always been more of a Sparrow than a Dove. Small and flighty, skittering from place to place, doing as she pleased. Her hair would always fall in her eyes, and her fancy dresses nearly always finished the day with some sort of tear or stain, much to her mother's dismay. She would slap the girl's wrists and tell her she had no respect for her clothing while already dragging the young girl out the door to buy something new.

Indeed, the fashionably cut dresses and lace, and the pretty hats and ribbons in her hair had made her look pretty then - when she had a brighter, rounder face and her bones did not stretch her skin - but beneath it all, she had always been a little _gamine. _

Her family used to use the word as a way to torment her. How strange it was, thinking back on it. They insulted her with the phrase but never expected it to become a truth.

Slowly, however, the truth of that phrase seemed to be fading. Despite her objections, Grantaire purchased her a dress - fashionably cut and made of a deep purple silk. Her hair was soft and clean once more, and the dark waves fell about her shoulders. Her skin was starting to return to its healthy color. She should not accept so much charity, but Grantaire made it difficult not to - and it made him happy. Marie wanted to make him happy.

Grantaire, like Marie, had known little love as a child. He was always overshadowed by his older brother. His accomplishments, no matter how important they seemed, could never match up. His grades were always lower, his essays were never as interesting, the books he read were never the proper ones. His talent for music was never looked on as anything more than a foolish hobby. He was showered with money and clothes and food, but never with the love that the gentle little boy turned young man wanted above all.

"Grantaire, I don't know if I should..." Marie trailed off, clinging to his arm though they had not even stepped out the door of his apartment.

"It has been over a week, Marie, I do not think there is any danger - and if there is, we are well prepared," he told her.

Marie pressed her lips into a tight line. She was still worried - Brujon had been drunk. He probably wouldn't even recognize Grantaire if he saw him alone. He had been safe the past few days walking to and from the café... But, if Brujon or Montparnasse were to pass by when she was with him, they would surely recognize her and everything would be over.

"Come, _chère,"_ he spoke softly, kissing her softly and earning himself a bit of a smile on her concerned, worry lined face. "We will be safe, I assure you. I would not even think to bring you out if there were any risk," he told her.

She could not sit in the house all day anymore - he feared she would become depressed and lonely. He hated leaving her alone more than he hated when Joly took his bottle away.

Sighing, she finally nodded and the two stepped out into the streets of Paris.

It was growing warmer, though whether that was the weather actually growing warmer, the new dress she wore, or the fact that she had eaten well in the past few days and was slightly more than skin and bones, she could not guess.

As they walked, Marie began to relax slowly. The sun was only just setting, so the streets were a soft golden color. She knew they were not really as beautiful as they seemed, with the poor still walking them and all, but she found them far more beautiful than she ever thought them before. Perhaps it was seeing them and knowing that she didn't have to wander out that evening, or wandering them with a full stomach instead of a painfully empty one.

They reached the café without incident, and when they entered, she was greeted with the smiles of many of _Les Amis_. She recognized Joly, Jehan, and Enjolras more than the others - of coure. The rest she did not know the names of, but they all seemed quite happy to see her there. Why, she honestly did not understand. She was no responsibility of theirs, nor had she ever attended their meetings save for the two that she stopped in on briefly.

"You look much better," Joly commented, offering her a smile which she returned easily. Perhaps it was better that she had joined them this evening - when she spent the evenings alone all she could do was worry. She would often try to read, but she would be too dizzy and sick with worry to concentrate on the pages.

"Thanks to the four of you," she pointed out to him.

"It didn't take much work," Grantaire said with a half laugh as he brushed her shoulder with his hand lightly on his way past her. Her face flushed red.

"You've got her blushing, R!" Prouvaire teased as Grantaire made his way to the back to grab a bottle of wine. Grantaire rolled his eyes. It was no secret now that he and Marie were something more than friends. Looking back, it seemed obvious since the moment he met her that he was in love, though he never would have thought so at the time. Honestly, she _had _at first appeared to him as some sort of charity case he could use to prove himself to Enjolras. But things had changed so much since then. And it had only been a couple of weeks.

"She doesn't like to be made the center of attention," he whispered, coming to her defense. It was the first time that she had been back to the café since the night that vile man had dragged her in by the hair and he wanted it to be a pleasant experience. He knew his friends meant no harm, but she was a very sensitive girl no matter how well she hid it and he did not want to make her feel in any way uncomfortable.

Marie just shrugged, "It's alright, R," she said, testing the nickname on her tongue. She'd never called him that before, and she was not quite sure if she liked it or not. "Let them have their fun."

Prouvaire laughed. Indeed, the young woman seemed much happier than before. The only other conversation he had seen her have, she looked lost and alone. Now she looked quite different - there was a sparkle in her eyes.

"Smart girl," he said with a smirk, walking over to her and grabbing her hand in order to pull her over to where Grantaire and himself were now sitting.

Marie felt almost ridiculous, the way they were treating her as if she were some sort of royalty. But she played along - it was nice.

Her eyes scanned the room for a moment after she sat down. Enjolras had stood, and silence fell over the group. In the corner, she noticed a girl. A _gamine _like herself. She raised her eyes in question, but did not make any move to ask who she was. Their eyes locked for a moment, and the sadness staring back at her was almost a mirror to her past self, though more extreme, and she could almost feel her heart breaking for the girl though she did not even know her name. She was tucked away so far in the back that it seemed as if she had been hoping not to be discovered.

"As you all know by now, Lamarque's health is failing fast." Enjolras' voice brought her out of her thoughts. Slowly, the image of the girl faded as she listened to words of revolution. This time, she actually let them go to her heart, hope rising instead of fear for once.

* * *

After Enjolras finished speaking and the conversation slowly turned to more casual things, Marie found herself sipping a glass of wine that Grantaire offered her. He was drinking as well, not surprisingly. Though it did not seem he was drinking too much more than his friends. His eyes kept locking on hers, a smile on his lips. Marie would smile back and take more sips of wine. It seemed like it could be just a gathering of friends for a good time, not the meeting place of a group of revolutionaries.

"It has been days since you've passed out drunk," Bahorel told Grantaire with a laugh, his eyes drifting over to Marie. "What have you done to our friend?"

Marie just laughed and shrugged, "I've done nothing," she told them. Truly, she hadn't. She had never once told him that he drank too much.

Grantaire knew that though Marie did not want to take credit, she truly had helped him a great deal. Before, he had no reason to stop. He was lonely and needed something to dull his thoughts and the sharp pain in his chest he always felt. Now there was no reason for him to numb himself. The feelings he had were so beautiful that it would be painful to hide them away.

"You've done a lot," Grantaire corrected her.

Their eyes locked, deep brown on blue.

She blushed.

He smiled.

Prouvaire smirked, "Drunk off of love, are we?" he asked.

"Better than any wine I have ever tasted."


	14. Home

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Les Mis.**

**Alright, this chapter didn't take me as long to get up. It's kind of short, but I didn't want to cram too much into it. Hope you all enjoy it! The next chapter should be up relatively soon. Thanks you all so much for reading and reviewing! **

* * *

Indeed, she was better than any wine he had ever tasted.

She was pressed up against him, her lips against his and her hands tangled in his hair. She tasted like wind and smoke and rain and honey all at the same time. He never wanted to stop kissing her.

His room was dark and quiet. It was late as it always was when they returned from the café. It was as if no one existed save the two of them. Marie's heart pounded in her chest, pure happiness coursing through her viens. Nothing mattered but her body pressed against Grantaire's, her lips pressed to his.

The kiss had not started out this way - so full of passion and heat. At first it had been soft and gentle, only to bid each other goodnight.

But now he was pushing her back onto the bed, landing on top of her. He trailed kisses from her jaw to her neck to her collarbone, smiling onto her soft skin at the way her heart rate picked up to match his own thundering in his chest. It seemed almost in perfect harmony.

Marie pushed her hands up under his shirt, trailing over the muscles of his chest, feeling them ripple beneath her fingertips. It was strange, but in a good way. This was not her only encounter of the sort, clearly, but this was truthfully the only time she had wanted it to happen. She would usually stay stiff and straight, waiting for it to be over. But the kisses he placed on her chest were not overly rough and uncaring. They were soft, gentle, and left her wanting more.

She lifted the shirt up over his chest, and he leaned back, a knee on either side of her, in order to help lift it the rest of the way off. The cool air of the room hit him but he did not notice. He was too focused on the young woman beneath him.

Tentatively, he leaned back down over her, running his hands up her sides and removing the cotton shirt that she wore - one of his, as she had taken to wearing his shirts to bed. It was not the first time he had been this intimate with a woman, but this was the first time that it had mattered a great deal to him. That, coupled with the knowledge of how she was used to being treated in similar situations, made him nervous.

However, the small gasping noises she made when his hands came in contact with her chest told him that he was not scaring her. He brought his lips back to hers and lost himself in the moment once more. Her hands continued to explore his face, his arms, his chest, and lower. His did the same, trailing finally between her legs and making her eyes roll back.

No, she had never felt like this before.

She held tightly to him when it happened, expecting it to hurt as it normally did. But it did not.

Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over.

Grantaire stopped his movements immediately, frowning. He had hurt her - he had done the one thing he swore to himself he would never do.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed, already attempting to pull away. Horrified at what he had done, but Marie gripped his shoulders and pulled him back to her, shaking her head.

"You haven't hurt me," she assured him. "I'm happy."

Grantaire sighed in relief, pressing his lips to hers once more.

This felt like heaven.

This felt like being drunk on of the best wine there could ever be - better, even.

For both of them, it felt like home.

When they collapsed, exhausted, into each other's arms, they did not even need to speak a word to know how each other felt. She nuzzled her head into his chest and he cradled her there. Their breathing slowed and eventually, the two lovers fell asleep, still clinging to each other.

* * *

The pair did not wake up until it was nearly noon. Bright sunlight filtered through the window, splashing them both in yellow-white light. Marie woke first. She glanced at Grantaire, who looked peaceful as a child. She reached out with soft fingers and brushed a bit of his hair out of his face.

Taking advantage of the moment, she got up and dressed herself quickly. Despite what had happened the evening before, she was quite disgusted with her body - it had been dark then, but she would not subject him to her bony frame in the sunlight that now filled the room. He awoke as she was adjusting her skirts.

"Good morning," he said. His voice was husky and still rough from sleep. Marie turned to him and smiled.

"Morning," she said.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked. She looked happy, but he was a bit worried still. Perhaps it had been wrong of him to take things so far. She lived a cruel life. She was fragile... What if she really had not been ready yet? It made his stomach twist.

Marie nodded, "Best I've ever slept."

Grantaire sighed in relief, earning himself a concerned look from Marie.

"I was worried... I'm scared that I hurt you last night."

Marie shook her head and went to sit down on the bed next to him. "I already told you you didn't." She studied his face for a moment. "It was the best night of my life." She blushed as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She did mean it, though. Not simply because she enjoyed it, but because of the fact that it was another way to be even closer to Grantaire, and she wanted to be as close to him as possible. Becoming one with him, sleeping in his arms with nothing at all separating them, it was perfect.

"I just wanted to make sure," he said sitting up so he could reach and brush her hair behind her ear.

She smiled. As much as she hated seeing him worried, she as glad that he truly cared. No one ever seemed to. But then all of a sudden, he did. And his friends did as well. She still didn't understand why they bothered with her.

She smiled, "You're so thoughtful," she said, pressing her lips to his.

They stayed like that for a bit, just wrapped in each other's embrace.


	15. Believer and Skeptic

Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone! Also, my E/É fic is finally up! I'm going to try and balance updating this and that as best as possible. So I'll update them alternately. Yeah. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Disclaimer: I'm still not Victor Hugo.**

* * *

Marie sat in the Café Musain listening to the boys talk. As much as she hated to admit it, she was really starting to enjoy the meetings. Though she managed to hate them at the same time - their plans both inspired and terrified her. It was difficult _not _to be inspired when Enjolras spoke, his words were so full of passion and conviction. She could see that Grantaire must feel the same way, considering that he didn't seem all that convinced about the cause, but he watched Enjolras with rapt attention, hanging on each of his words. Marie was quite observent.

"Lamarque has fallen ill." Coufeyrac was speaking. Marie frowned, expecting sadness to fill the eyes of all of the boys, and many did look upset. She glanced to Grantaire, but his expression was hard to read as always.

Enjolras, however, had somewhat of a fire glowing in his. Marie was entirely confused - Lamarque was the people's man. The one they could look to for any sort of support. If he died, what voice would they have then?

"Don't frown," Enjolras ordered to no one in particular. "Yes, we will lose a great man, but the people will rise."

Sometimes Marie did not understand his logic at all.

"If Lamarque dies, the people will rise. When they lose their voice, they will stand with us! They will fight."

Marie was not sure that was true, as much as she wanted to believe it was. If Lamarque died, the people would lose their voice and they would cower in fear. A few may revolt, but she assmed most would return to their homes to live out the rest of their lives in peace, even if they barely had enough to eat. They would not rise and take the risk of being killed by a government that now they had no voice in.

The boys seemed so happy, however, that she did not open her mouth to speak. She wondered what the girl - the one she had come to notice was always in the café as well - thought of all of this. She seemed unhappy, a frown etched on her face as she gazed at Enjolras. Marie didn't exactly know either of them, but it was quite clear to her that something was happening between them. It was none of her business, however, she wondered how the girl felt. For her, it was difficult. It was difficult to sit through meetins, watching Grantaire and the others speak of revolution. It was difficult knowing where it could possibly lead them.

He was the best thing in her life, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing him. She would not lose him. If he was going to fight, she would too. She knew he would not approve, but she intended on following through with her plans regardless.

It was at that moment that the girl looked away from Enjolras and made eye contact with her. There was understanding in their exchange this time, and she offered a small smile, though it was not a happy one. The girl returned it. Yes, she must feel the same way.

Marie sighed, running a hand through her hair. It was stil strange, being able to do things like that without her fingers catching in knots. Just as strange as it was to look into the mirror, or to look down and see the fine fabric of her dress. She had three of them now, many more than she needed after being used to wearing the same torn up pieces of fabric for so long. She often tried to refuse, but Grantaire would insist. The weather was warming, but he still seemed so concerned about the condition of her clothing. It would irritate her, but he was just so sincere that she could never be angry with him, really.

...

"You seem upset."

Marie shrugged, glancing at Grantaire who now sat next to her. Political speeches had once again faded to casual conversations. Most of the boys laughed and drank with the exception of Grantaire - he was drinking, but looked far from laughing - and Enjolras, who had slipped out of the spotlight and stood talking to the girl who Marie still did not know the name of. She wondered why the boys didn't seem to say anything about her. The girl didn't seem all that much different from her, and they seemed ready to stick their noses in Grantaire's life - what was it that kept them from saying anything about the girl who was more like a shadow and their leader?

"I'm fine," she insisted, offering him a weak smile.

She took a sip from the glass of wine in front of her. She wished it were brandy, something stronger. The thoughts swirling in her head were not pleasant and her stomach twisted in a way that made her wish hadn't eaten that day.

"You're not very good at hiding your emotions," Grantaire told her. He could see the worry in her eyes, in the tense muscles of her face, even in the way she gripped the glass in her hand and tipped her head back to drink more than she usually did.

"It is about the revolution," he said. It was not a question, for he knew the answer would be yes. Even he was worried about the revolution, but he tried as hard as he could not to let it bother him. It still did, of course, but he tried to distract himself. He had been drinking again, not quite as bad as before he met Marie, but enough to numb his mind so that he did not have to constantly worry about the fate of he and his little group. He wondered how Enjolras seemed to just _know _that things were going to be okay, and that even if they fell, there would be others to take their place to ensure that those they would leave behind would actually live the lives that they promised them.

He could not send Marie back to the life she had been living.

When Marie did not answer her, she shook his head lightly and pressed his lips to her forehead.

Marie let herself melt into his arms, but it did not ease her worry. No amount of actions or words could do that. Now that there seemed to be more of a definite time frame, a specific time when the revolution could begin, Marie felt sick. Before it had been an idea, nothing tangible, nothing she could grasp and actually look at as reality.

Grantaire felt a hand on his shoulder and reluctantly pulled away from Marie. However, when he turned to see who the hand belong to, he stood up quickly. Enjolras did not typically speak to him - Despite his recent change in habits, he was still a drunk.

"Yes?" he asked.

"May I talk to you for a moment?" the leader asked.

Grantaire nodded quickly, "Of course."

Marie stayed sitting where she was, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes focused on them, willing tears not to well in her eyes at the thoughts in her head.

...

Enjolras did not speak until they were far from everyone else, in a rather darkened corner of the café. Grantaire still could not grasp _why_. However, it became quite clear to him the moment he began speaking.

"She is upset as well?" he asked simply, glancing toward Marie who did indeed look upset.

Grantaire nodded. He now understood why he must be speaking to him - for the woman that he now spent time with was undoubtably feeling the same way - but he did not understand how it could possibly affect his leader, or for what purpose he would need to point out to Grantaire what was quite clear already.

"But you will still take your place with me?" he asked. There was a sort of desperate curiosity in his eyes that made him seem almost vulnerable.

"Of course," Grantaire assured him, "I will not desert your cause."

"But you do not even believe in it... You do not believe in anything."

Grantaire frowned, "I believe in more than I am given credit for," he said almost sharply, the words stinging him in a way. "I will not desert the cause that will make her life better."

Enjolras pressed his lips into a tight line. There seemed to be more going on in his head than he was letting on, as if he was trapped in a way. "No, I'm sorry," he corrected himself. "I just... It is difficult, as you know..." he trailed off. Grantaire did not even have to turn to know who his friend's eyes landed on - Eponine.

So he did love her.

"It is no crime to love, Enj."

For once, it was Grantaire's words comforting Enjolras. It was a strange feeling. He had never seen the man in need of help before. Grantaire needed Enjolras's pretty words and strong convictions to assure him that there was some hope in this cause of theirs - that there was hope for the world in general. Enjolras needed Grantaire's soft, simple words to assure him that it was okay to love - that it was oka to have doubts at certain times, and that it was okay to put something ahead of Patria.

The two stood in silence, a mutual understanding of this new dynamic sinking in as Enjolras processed his words.

"It happens," Grantaire added.

Yes, love could happen. It could hit a person like a bullet, unexpected but strong enough to pierce the heart. It could happen to anyone, even those who least expected it.

"Unfortunately," Enjolras mumbled. Grantaire simply shrugged in reply. There were new challenges to the revolution that no one had, up to that point, expected.

Prouvaire would be immeasurably happy when he learned of this.


	16. Montparnasse

Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone! Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

**Disclaimer: Shockingly, I still don't own Les Mis.**

* * *

It was nearly one in the morning, yet none of _Les Amis _had made any move to leave. It was later than usual, but they were all talking, laughing, drinking - just enjoying the evening. There was no more talk of revolution that night. Grantaire assumed it was because, thanks to Lamarque's falling ill, all at once their revolution had become more real. Before, it had simply been pretty words - an _idea_. Now it was much more tangible than that.

Even Enjolras seemed slightly unnerved, though Grantaire and the others were not foolish enough to believe that it was because of shock. For Enjolras, it had always been real. It was _his _revolution, for the most part. He was their chief, their leader - it was no surprise that he had been the most faithful in their cause, and the most willing to risk his life for it. They all pretended not to notice the way their marble statue seemed to crack just a bit, and they all pretended not to see him wander off to go sit with the girl.

They often teased, but tonight did not seem like the night for that.

They effectively ignored this, but it was a bit harder to ignore the other things going on in the room. They were talking and laughing, not paying a great deal of attention to the way Marie had drank a great deal more than usual, the way she spoke in slurred words and slumped against her seat. Grantaire was not drunk, but it seemed that someone had taken his place.

It worried him slightly. She had seemed upset earlier, and there was no doubt in his mind that she was drinking tonight for the same reason he often did. Obviously, intoxication was not uncommon in the café, but he could not help but worry that this would complicate the walk home. He did not want to take any unnecessary risks when they involved Marie's safety.

He knew it was not a good idea, given her usual temper and the way one often reacted to the suggestion when they were drunk, but he attempted to take the glass of whatever it was she was drinking from her hands.

"Marie, I think you've had enough, you don't want to be sick in the morning..." he coaxed.

Marie rolled her eyes.

"You're one 'ta talk, Messieur," she slurred gripping tighter to the cup.

Grantaire sighed and glanced towards his friends, a slight smirk on his lips. They all smiled back. How was it that they dealt with him nearly every day before he had toned down his drinking a bit?

He turned back towards Marie, who had chosen to drain the rest of her glass rather than give it up. Grantaire frowned. "Okay, no more," he said, this time easily taking the glass out of her hand. She wasn't really in any condition to be fighting to grab it back, anyhow.

She slumped over the table with a sigh of frustration. Her words were barely audible due to her face being buried in her arm - "Why aren't you drinking?" she mumbled, "You ca' get drunk whenever you want to, buh I can't?"

"I can barely understand you," Grantaire told her.

"I SAID, you can get drunk whenever you want, buh I can't?"

"It's just that you don't usually drink," he said, leaning closer to her so he didn't have to speak as loud. He knew the others could hear regardless, but at least they would not be yelling.

"D'you 'spect me not to drink when you're all talking 'bout this revlution that'll get you killed?" she asked.

Silence fell on the room after that. Grantaire swallowed. The other _Amis _all turned to look at them, the smiles vanishing from their faces. They knew the words were likely true. Some of them would fall, it was a fact they were all well aware of, but no one had said it so bluntly. Expect perhaps Enjolras, but somehow the way he said it was inspirational, the way it sounded when Marie said it was simply depressing. She never would have said such a thing were she sober.

"I think it's time to go home, Marie," he told her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Buh everyone still here."

"We'll all be leaving soon," Joly came to Grantaire's aid. Of course Joly would. He smiled gratefully and Joly just nodded and continued, "It'd be best to get back while you can still walk," he pointed out.

Marie knew he was right - her eyelids were growing heavier by the moment, and she knew it was going to be difficult enough to walk home already. She tried to stand up, but the task proved to be nearly impossible. Grantaire laughed slightly and wrapped her arm around his shoulder so she could lean on him.

"Come on..." he said as he eased her up.

"Less go," Marie said, stumbling along next to him towards the door. "Bye!" she said cheerfully to the others, who seemed amused, but still concerned at the same time - probably due to what she had said. It had been a stupid thing to say, especially to that group, but she was quite blunt when she was drunk. She wondered why she had drank so much in the first place. She wanted to forget the fact that the only good thing in her life - or good things, rather, were Grantaire and his friends. Of course they would want to risk their lives. It was selfish of her, but she didn't want them to go on with their revolution, she didn't want to lose them. She honestly just _couldn't. _

But she wouldn't have a choice, would she?

Of course nothing good in her life would last.

She was glad she was drunk because if she were not, she would probably be sobbing at the thought.

Grantaire pushed open the door and helped Marie stumble through the streets. Luckily, there were not many people in the streets at this hour. However, every time anyone did appear, he couldn't help but pull the two of them farther into the shadows. What Brujon chose this night? Marie was in no condition to put up any sort of fight. He should have asked one of the others to accompany him.

They were half way to his flat when the trouble started.

"Pretty little thing you've got there."

Marie was nearly unconscious and didn't even seem to notice the voice. Marie looked entirely confused, Grantaire looked borderline panicked. What if it was the man they had spoken of before - Montparnasse?

"Brujon been lookin' for her."

Instinctively, Grantaire wrapped his arm tighter around her. "I'm sorry?" he faked confusion. "I do not know who that is."

"Oh, I believe you do."

He reached a hand for Marie, but Grantaire gripped tighter. Marie's vision came into focus as she was jolted by the motion, her eyes widening in panic when she saw the man in front of them.

Nothing felt real, but she knew who it was - Montparnasse.

_Get away, you have to get away. _

The little voice in her mind was screaming, but her movements were sluggish. She knew they could not go to Grantaire's flat, they would have to return to the café. They couldn't let the assassin know where they lived.

Grantaire knew what he had to do. He had the gun tucked into his pants, just in case. He had never pictured himself doing this - but he had to stop him somehow. But somehow, in the time it took him to grab the gun, Marie had tried to take off back toward the café and Montparnasse had grabbed hold of her arm.

Grantaire held the gun toward him.

"Let her go," he hissed.

"Put it down," the man said, the silver glint of a knife pressed to Marie's throat.

Grantaire couldn't breathe. This was not happening, this could not be happening.

He had _one _person to protect, _one goal. _And just like with everything, he had somehow failed.

"Grantaire..." Marie's voice sounded strangled and tear-filled.

She had been right, her life could not be happy for more than a few days at a time. She was destined to be miserable forever, and thanks to her, Grantaire was being dragged down with her.


	17. Cold

Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Les Mis.**

* * *

The knife pressed to her throat was cold like ice, but feeling it there burned hot as fire. She wanted to scream but honestly what would be the point? She wished Grantaire would turn and leave. He shouldn't be mixing himself in things like this – she should have stayed away. She was stupid to think that just because of a few perfect days, her life was going to change. No. It was always going to be the same hell hole she was always stuck in.

Grantaire, however, did not have any intention of leaving.

"Come on now, put it down," Montparnasse coaxed again. "We wouldn't want anything bad to happen to the gamine, would we?"

Marie pressed her lips into a tight line, she could not think of a worse fate than being returned to Brujon. Grantaire simply clenched his jaw, racking his brain for any sort of idea that might save her. Things could not end this way.

Time seemed to have slowed down, and for a moment he caught her eyes. They were wide and dark, as usual, but they were not fearful. That was, perhaps, the most concerning thing. She did not look scared – only sad. She looked as if she had expected this all along. Did she not trust him at all? Or had she stupidly put too much trust in him only for him to let her down, as he let everyone down in the end.

But he could not let it end this way. He refused to let the man take her.

"Fine," he said, his voice nearly a whisper.

Montparnasse smirked this time, pulling Marie tighter against him, the knife pressing into her skin. She whimpered despite all of her attempts to mask her fear, and the man laughed.

Grantaire could not bear seeing her in pain. Slowly, he began to lower the gun. He would only have one shot.

Montparnasse was holding Marie in front of him, but she was quite small in comparison, and there was still plenty of room to hit him. It was not the best plan, but it was the only plan he had at the moment. The knife was pressed hard enough to Marie's neck that small beads of red appeared there. He was squeamish at the sight of blood, but seeing hers made him want to be sick.

As he lowered the weapon, he pulled the trigger. Montparnasse realized too late, as he had intended, and the bullet grazed his shoulder – not much damage, but enough. He let out a yell as Marie fell from his grasp. She fell forward, still slightly drunk and now completely drained.

Montparnasse gripped his shoulder in pain, dropping his knife in the process. Grantaire stood with the gun still held in his hands. He had clearly won.

"You couldn't kill me, boy," said the man – not much older than Grantaire himself. In fact, he seemed just around the same age.

"I don't need to kill, now get out of here."

"You're really going to let me go?" he asked, mocking laughter in his voice. Grantaire could not imagine how he could be laughing in such a powerless situation.

"I almost _killed _your little girlfriend."

Grantaire narrowed his eyes, holding the gun in front of him.

"I was going to bring her back to Brujon."

Grantaire had to fight not to pull the trigger once more.

"Brujon is quite fond of her, thought I don't know why..." he said with a smirk, "A little street urchin like that. But then again, it doesn't matter in the dark."

Grantaire tried to ignore him as he stepped closer, snatching the knife quickly and helping Marie up, gun still pointed at Montparnasse. Lifting her up was a bit of a struggle due to the fact that he had to keep his eyes trained on Montparnasse the whole time, and the criminal continued to talk all the while, clearly trying to anger Grantaire. What his purpose for that was, he had no idea. Make Grantaire kill him? What would that solve? Or was he so confident in his little games that he knew Grantaire would not?

"It's been quiet without her – no screaming… I almost missed her." Marie's hands clenched into fists, remember what it was like those days when she was stuck in that disgusting flat, thinking she might never escape. It smelled of alcohol and sweat. It was too hot. When she was there the first time, she thought surely she had died and gone to hell.

Sensing her discomfort, and being extremely upset by the conversation as well, Grantaire narrowed his eyes at the man. "Be quiet or I'll shoot you," he threatened. Marie was standing now, leaning against him for support. She seemed to be in a sort of haze that did not seem to be entirely brought on by alcohol.

"No you won't." The statement was matter-of-fact.

Grantaire scowled, backing away with Marie clutched tight to him. They could not go back to his home, now. They could not risk Montparnasse following. The bullet had only grazed his shoulder, so there was not much more damage than a bit of blood.

"You don't have the strength to do it," he said.

"Killing someone does not prove you are strong," Grantaire challenged. In all honesty - he was scared. He hated himself for it, he truly did. For he knew he would kill for Enjolras' revolution. He would kill for that, but he would not kill for Marie? It was simply the timing... He could be arrested, and then where would Marie be? Then, he would not be there to help his friends. He could not let that happen. Letting the rat go was his only option.

"Did you learn that in Philosophy class?" the man teased. Grantaire just continued to back up, lowering the gun as not to draw attention as he stepped out of the shadows.

As Grantaire moved farther and farther away, Montparnasse finally fell silent. Until he shouted what was apparently his last farewell.

"I'll see you agains soon, Bourgeois Boy," he yelled.

Grantaire shuddered as he held Marie close to him as they stumbled back to the café. He hid the gun once more. To anyone walking by, it would probably be assumed that the pair was just drunk.

...

Grantaire was a panicked mess when he arrived back at the Musain, pushing open the door just as Jehan and Joly were on their way out. Combferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras and the girl were still sitting. Marie had not so much as spoken a word the entire walk. She had barely kept up with him, he'd practically had to drag her back. She was nearly limp in his arms, and her head hung. Her eyes stared straight ahead, and despite the slightly cool air, her face was covered in sweat.

Joly's eyes widened first at the blood on Marie's neck, then at the expression on her face. "What happened?"

"Montparnasse... We ran into him and... She's fine but... She won't say anything!" Grantaire was breathing heavily and too panicked to retell the story in detail, but at Montparnasse's name, both Enjolras and the girl stood up quickly.

Joly frowned, sit her down, get her some water," he ordered no one in particular.

It was Éponine who brought the water to the girl, a frown etched on her face as she held the cup out to her. "Drink this, Mademoiselle," she tried. Marie still gave no indication that she even heard what anyone was saying.

"I think she may be in shock," Joly said as he dabbed the irritated skin of her neck with a cloth. She did not even flinch away.

"Marie!" Grantaire begged, taking one of her hands, kneeling on the opposite side of her, across from Éponine, who had a look of such sadness on her face that it almost confused him - she did not even know Marie, but she did seem to know Montparnasse, as Enjolras did as well. Did the same thing happen to her, he wondered? The thought made him sick. How could such a disgusting group of people hold so much power?

Marie didn't know what was happening - everything passed in a sort of blur. She was positive the alcohol had something to do with it, but it was worse than that. Everything was dark, confusing, cold. There was no escape from it - her life. It was destined to be this way forever. She had almost been taken back to Brujon, but Grantaire had risked his life to save her. Montparnasse would be back, and the same thing may happen all over again, though it may not work out this way each time. If Montparnasse did not take Grantaire from her, the Revolution would.

What was the point of trying to be happy, trying to have a normal life, when in the end it would be ruined?

Vaguely, she was aware of Grantaire and Joly crowding her, of the girl she did not know the name of trying to offer her water. She was aware of these things, but she felt as if she were far, far away. She was so scared and so unspeakably sad it felt like a hole had been punched in her chest, as if the knife had not merely broken the skin at her neck but stabbed straight through her chest.

Slowly, everything faded to black.

* * *

Judging that it was best not to try and return home that evening, Enjolras insisted that Grantaire and Marie stay with him. Grantaire carried Marie up the stairs and lay her on Enjolras' bed.

"Éponine," Grantaire heard Enjolras speak as he sat on the edge of the bed, holding Marie's hand in his, tracing the skin with his thumb and keeping his eyes focused on her face, hoping she would wake up soon. Joly insisted that she was alright - that the alcohol had merely caused her to black out (_"You should be used to that, R!"_) - but still he could not help but be worried. "You should go sleep on the couch, it is late."

"I'm fine," the young woman answered.

"'Ponine," Grantaire had never heard Enjolras beg before, "_Please. _This bothers you, I know it does..." His voice was a whisper, but Grantaire could still hear him, after all they were in the same room.

"I can deal with my past, Enj," she told him, "And I can help."

Grantaire finally looked back at the pair then, locking eyes briefly with Éponine before his attention turned to Enjolras. Their expressions matched almost perfectly. The pain of wanting to help but being unable to.

"Let me get her into night clothes," Eponine suggested, practically shooing the two men out of the room.

Once out in the hall, Grantaire stopped. He should walk away, get something to drink, try to calm himself down, but it was nearly impossible. Enjolras seemed to have frozen in his place as well.

The two looked at each other.

Enjolras reached out and placed a hand on Grantaire's shoulder. The marble statue actually showing emotion, empathy. Grantaire would have never seen this coming. However, the two were experiencing much the same thing - the one thing it seemed neither would ever experience. Yet, somehow it had happened.

Love.


End file.
